Harry Potter and the Knight of Mann
by Irish Ghost
Summary: AU: It's fifth year for Harry, and there's a transfer student joining him. Little is known about where she comes from. Some wonder if she is dark. Others wonder if she can help Harry save them. The only thing for sure: no one will forget these years.
1. Neither Rhyme nor Reason

Thunder and torrential downpour rolled out all night against the stormy landscape as Harry Potter walked into the Great Hall of Hogwarts for the Welcoming Feast of his fifth year. The train ride from King's Cross Station was lacking, to say the least. Hermione and Ron had to attend a Prefects' meeting in a different compartment, leaving him alone for a while. At least Neville joined up with him to keep him company, but he was more concerned with the strange-looking cactus on his lap, leaving Harry mostly by himself to brood.

This summer had been one of the worst in his personal history, and he had had quite a few bad summers before. Not only was he dealing with the death of Cedric Diggory and return of Lord Voldemort, but he also had to deal with the Wizengamot and Fudge's unwillingness to accept that Voldemort was back. He did cast magic in front of a Muggle (namely, his pig cousin), but he had cause. Two Dementors coming to attack him? Anyone would have agreed with him at any other time, but now he was a 'lunatic' and an 'attention-seeking prat'; no one was on his side now. Fudge and the _Daily Prophet_ saw to that, with their incessant smear campaigns against him and Dumbledore.

However, most of the Wizengamot seemed to side with him when he managed to tell his side of the story, at least once it was corroborated by Mrs. Figg. Madam Bones seemed fair, and did not seem to appreciate Fudge's slack-jawed laziness when it came to pursuing legal correctness. He saw her spine prickle at the slid in comment that Fudge could change the laws whenever he wanted to suit the Ministry. Dumbledore was not much help in the trial: he was in and out like a flash flood. He came in, spoke his piece, waited for the sentence, and then left without saying a word or even looking at Harry. He did not understand any of it.

At least there was some good this summer. He was introduced to the Order of the Phoenix, Dumbledore's little gang of Light-sided wizards and witches that tried to fight against Voldemort and his cadre of Death Eaters. That was some hope: many of the members seemed to be Aurors or at least had some battle experience. And he got to see his dog-father again. Sirius was looking much better now that he had a home and a steady diet of something other than rats and the small things he could smuggle to Hogsmeade for him. Still, to be imprisoned in the same place without anywhere safe to flee into for the sake of being himself… Harry could relate to that most easily. He was still a prisoner to the Dursleys during the summer break. But at least here, he was free to be himself.

However, even that little good was tainted with strangeness. The behavior of the members of the Order of the Phoenix, when he was around them, made him ponder what exactly it was they were hiding from him. Mrs. Weasley, as per usual, smothered him in motherly love and food but she was still treating him like a child. Moody had tried to stop Sirius from telling him something about some kind of a weapon that Voldemort was after. Even Lupin, his most favorite ex-teacher from Hogwarts and former Marauder, was pushing him aside and telling him nothing. Only his dog-father treated him like his age, and like the one that had seen Voldemort return. Well, there was some good this summer, if little enough.

He looked up to the Head Table, watching Dumbledore sit there and let himself calm down a little. He still did not understand why he was not told anything during the summer. Dumbledore must have had some reason to conceal it from him, but it hurt him to be on the outside when he wanted to fight with everyone else. Professor McGonagall was missing as well, as per usual: she was with the first years in the entrance of the Great Hall, waiting for bring them in. Hagrid was missing; where was he? His face fell as he saw Umbridge sitting among the teachers, the same old toady from the Wizengamot that considered him guilty: that meant nothing good. Snape was his usual grumpy and surly self, glaring out at the crowd of students. At least, some things will never change.

As he sat down next to Hermione and Ron, it was like magic when McGonagall led the first years in. There was a big crowd this year: there were maybe forty-five or fifty little frightened children walking down the hall. They looked so vulnerable, so innocent. He barely paid attention to the Sorting Hat's Song, or the Sorting ceremony that followed; it never changed year after year. It was a new song, new students, and new reasons to keep up the discord between houses… It may be a new year, but it was the same old stuff.

However, this year, he was wrong. After the Sorting, Dumbledore stood up but he did not signal for the feast to begin. "Now that everyone is Sorted and seated, I have a special announcement before the feast can begin." Harry, and probably half the hall, heard Ron groan and his stomach grumble. Hermione jabbed him in the side with her elbow.

Dumbledore continued with his speech, that everlasting twinkle in his eye, as if he had not been interrupted. "This year, we are pleased to be host to a transfer student from the Aurorian Academy on the Isle of Man. This is the first such time that anything like this has happened in over a thousand years. It is the first step in beginning new relationships with our old friend, after decades of stagnation. The student will be considered a fifth-year and will study here as long as her professors deem it prudent. In addition, she will be Sorted tonight. Please, help me to welcome… Sir Airmed Wolfshead!"

The doors to the Great Hall opened, but there was no nervous student waiting to enter. Instead, a massive gray wolf ran into the hall between the Gryffindor and Ravenclaw tables. There were squeals of fear and confusion as the wolf ran past them, but even more as the wolf transformed flawlessly into a peregrine falcon and flew over the tables in lazy circles. Higher and higher it flew until it transformed once more.

Screams of fear filled the hall as a miniature Hebridean Black dragon flew close to the ceiling. The creature made a dive halfway above the tables, before pointing its maw above the students and roaring a stream of vivid sapphire fire. As the dragon flew lower, people saw that the fire was suspended above their heads in a crest of some kind: three armored legs connected at the hip, surrounded by a wolf, a falcon, and a dragon. Below the crest was a motto, but it was written in a different language than Latin: _Cúr Treisht Ayn Ayd Wappin_.

The dragon gave one final roar before falling towards the staff table. It transformed once more, this time into a girl. Performing a perfect somersault, she landed flawlessly on the stairs in front of the staff table on one knee, her head slightly bowed. There was no motion out of place, no wasted energy.

The whispers were in full force now as everyone tried to catch a look at the mysterious transfer student that knelt in front of them. Harry's eyes widened at the sight of her. From what he could see from his seat in the middle of the hall, she was dressed in some kind of armor. Her arms were covered in chain mail, like something out of the Middle Ages. The chain mail was covered by some kind of long tunic dyed blue-black belted around her waist. There was a silver wolf's head sewn on to the back, snarling at all that looked at it. From where he was sitting, he spied thick gloves tucked into the belt beside a leather pouch of sorts. The mail ended above her knees, where everyone saw some kind of thickly quilted cotton breeches above black leather boots. Her headpiece was pushed back to reveal pure-white hair braided tightly to her head and some kind of scar on her neck; he could not make it out from where he was sitting.

But it was what she was carrying that made the whispers increase as she simply knelt there. She was armed. On her belt near her hip was a quiver of arrows. At her side, her hand resting on the hilt, was a longsword sheathed in an obviously well used leather scabbard; across her back was a quarterstaff with a foot long blade at the end and a long leather tube showing an unstrung bow. From simply looking at her, Harry got the impression that she knew how to use these weapons, and had probably used them in the past.

As soon as that thought crossed his mind, the strange new student stood up, hardly making a sound as the mail crinkled with her movements. A new thought crossed his mind: this girl was used to the chain mail that she wore. But why would she be? Considering how different the wizarding world was from the Muggle world, why would she be used to such an archaic method of protection, even by the standards of the wizarding world?

The new student, Airmed Wolfshead, bowed before the Head Table and walked towards Professor McGonagall as she stood by the stool and the Sorting Hat. She broke tradition at this point. Instead of sitting on the stool and letting Professor McGonagall place the Hat on her head, she simply grabbed the Hat from the stool and placed it on her head. Her back was facing the student body, not showing her expression or her facial features.

The Hall was quiet once more as they waited for the results of the transfer student's Sorting. It did not take long, at least not longer than most normal Sorting times. The Hat yelled out from its ripped seam, "GRYFFINDOR!" The tables began to cheer as she turned around, but the cheering soon died out as they got their first real look at the transfer student.

As Airmed Wolfshead walked down the stairs, she transformed her tunic with a simple motion of her hand, making it change from blue-black into red with a golden salient lion across her torso. But it was her face that caught them all by surprise. Marring the patrician features of her face was a massive scar running down from the middle of her hairline, through her left eyebrow and eye itself, and ending just below her cheekbone; the inside of her eye socket, Harry saw as she walked closer to him, looked like it had been scraped clean of all remnants of her eye, leaving her only a hollow cavity. It looked old and she did not seem to notice the staring, but it did not hide the fact that she was missing one of her eyes. Her other eye was a deep blue, almost the same color as the Ravenclaw banner. Her pink lips and small mouth were grinning as she walked without a care to the Gryffindor table and stood behind Harry.

"Is this seat taken?" She pointed to the spot next to him on his right. Her voice was deep, like listening to the roar of the ocean's waves. It was also heavily accented, but it was difficult to place where the accent came from. It could have been Irish, but there was more emphasis on the gruffness in her voice that could have been Scottish. The combination made for a no-nonsense tone and pitch.

"Not at all." Harry nodded to her as she sat between him and Neville. As soon as she sat down, Neville nodded to her and passed her a water-filled goblet, addressing her as "Milady". Accepting the goblet and taking a small sip from it, she nodded back to him and called him "Sir". No word was spoken as she looked back to the Head Table. Once more, the hall burst out into whispers. The new student sat next to Crazy Boy Potter and Longbottom? What was she thinking? And what was the deal with the goblet?

Dumbledore stood up once more, this time giving the signal for the feast. The tables groaned under the weight of the food, and the gleam in Airmed's eyes was clue enough that she was famished.

She was quiet for the rest of the meal, nodding as Harry introduced her to Ron and Hermione, but mostly eating her way through two full plates of food. She was hungry enough to eat a dragon by herself, but she reprimanded herself into using the utensils there and being polite as she ate. Some of the boys looked at her incredulously as she drank back an entire goblet of pumpkin juice without stop. What was wrong with her? They talked about her well within her hearing range, but they did not actually talk to her.

Neville took up quiet conversation with her, pointing discreetly at a few of his year mates. As Airmed took in the names and faces, she committed them all to memory as best as she could. No one understood why, but most of them good-naturedly ignored her for the time being.

Finally, one of the first years left their seat and walked up to her, his face turning all colours of red as he forced himself to keep walking. She saw him coming out of the corner of her eye; Euan Abercrombie was his name, if she remembered correctly. He tugged at her tunic and nearly wet himself as she turned and looked at him with a curious look on her face.

"Yes, little one?" She placed her utensils back on the table and knelt on one knee before him so that she was eye level with him.

"Why… why do you wear this?" He tugged on her tunic again. The Gryffindors around her heard something remarkable coming from her as she closed her eye and laughed, a smile decorating her face. It seemed so out of place: a hardened and scarred warrior laughing like Father Christmas.

"Because, little Euan, where I come from, we have a proud history of knights that fight for our country. I am one of them, but I also love to learn. That's why I'm here." No one saw how her face dropped for a moment, but she quickly pulled her composure back together before people took notice.

Again, everyone was surprised when she stood and, holding Euan's hand, walked him back to his seat. Once he was seated amongst his fellow first-years, she whispered something into his ear that made him smile so brightly and hug her. She was gentle as she wrapped her mail-covered arms around the little boy and let him relax. She would never let him come to harm; that much was obvious to all onlookers present. Letting go of the hug, she ruffled his hair and walked back to sit down amongst the fifth-years.

For herself, Airmed was glad to be sitting. The flight here from the Isle of Man was long enough for her in her dragon form in normal weather, but it was thundering and raining all over this accursed island. She landed at the Hosgmeade Station just as the last students were loaded onto Thestral-drawn carriages, the rain pouring down on her without any end in sight. Thankfully, she had, long ago, charmed her armor, her weapons, and her clothes to be weather-resistant; that simple runic charm had saved her purse many times from having to replace her armour constantly. Otherwise, she would have to spend hours getting all of the rust out of her chainmail. She had to run up the path, her trunk shrunken in the leather pouch on her belt, and had made it into the monstrosity of a castle just as the doors were closing. As such, she was hungry, she was thirsty, and she was tired.

However, young Euan, he whose name means 'little and swift one', made her smile with his young antics. He was innocent of all that she had had to face over the years. Hopefully, it would remain so for a few years yet. Dessert passed by, and she took nothing save a piece of fruit to nibble on. Master Conn had told her to expect a speech after the feast from Dumbledore, and he was not wrong in that sense.

Yet again, Dumbledore stood from his seat and began to speak. "Well, now that we are all digesting another magnificent feast, I beg a few moments of your attention for the usual start of term notices. First-years, and our new guest, should know that the Forbidden Forest in the grounds is out of bounds to all students- as should a few of our older students." Airmed frowned slightly: that could prove problematic for her training in the mornings. But she would solve that problem tomorrow, when she had time to explore the grounds.

"Mr. Filch, the caretaker, has asked me, for what he tells me is the four-hundred-and-sixty-second time, to remind you all that magic is not permitted in corridors between classes, as well as a whole list of things which can be found nailed to Mr. Filch's door.

"We have had two changes in staffing this year. We are very pleased to welcome back Professor Grubbly-Plank, who will be taking Care of Magical Creatures lessons until Hagrid returns from his leave; we are also delighted to introduce Professor Umbridge, our new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher." Applause was nice and brief at this point; Airmed could see that most everyone was anxious to get into bed and go to sleep against the sounds of the rolling thunderstorm. However, that was not going to happen any time soon.

"_Hem-hem._" Someone had cleared her throat from the staff table. Airmed peered and saw that Professor Umbridge was standing up and had intended to make a speech of her own. Dumbledore looked perplexed, but only for a moment. Being a true gentleman, he sat down and motioned for Madam Umbridge to say her words.

Airmed lost all respect for her when she saw that god-awful pink cardigan that nearly burned her eyes out. Such a colour, never seen on the Isle of Man, was only worn by women so secure in their role as women that they never saw fit to defend their country; either that, or by women that tended to stay at home and cook and clean. Either way, she was no fighter.

Her voice was simpering and high-pitched as she went on about how they will all be friends by the end of the term, grating on Airmed's tired ears. Still, she put an attentive mask on her face and listened to the sale-pitch.

"The Ministry of Magic has always considered the education of young witches and wizards to be of vital importance. The rare gifts with which you were born may come to nothing if not nurtured and honed by careful instruction. The ancient skills unique to the wizarding community must be passed down the generations, lest we lose them forever. The treasure trove of magical knowledge amassed by our ancestors must be guarded, replenished, and polished by those who have been called to the noble profession of teaching." At that moment, Umbridge's cheery face fell for a moment as she glared at the newcomer, before perking up.

Well, that was good to know. This Umbridge character had it out for those not of British lines. It was ancient history for some, but the Isle of Man was not part of the United Kingdom. Instead, they were a small magical sovereignty unto their own self-governance. Many members of the magical world of Britain considered them to be under the purview of the British Ministry of Magic, but that was false. If that were true, in any case, she would have been dead long ago. She had seen much of the inefficiency of the British Ministry of Magic, especially under the most recent leader. Such a blundering fool was this Cornelius Fudge, constantly making foolish mistakes to the detriment of his people. It was lucky that they were a sovereign nation; for that much, she was thankful.

Airmed's eyes narrowed at the next part of the speech. "Every headmaster and headmistress of Hogwarts has brought something new to the weighty task of governing this historic school, and that is as it should be, for without progress there will be stagnation and decay. There again, progress for progress' sake must be discouraged, for our tried and tested traditions often require no tinkering. A balance, then, between old and new, between permanence and change, between tradition and innovation must be found.

"While some changes may be for the better, others will, in the fullness of time, come to be recognized as errors in judgment. Meanwhile, some old habits will be retained, and rightly so, whereas others, outmoded and outworn (again, a glare at Airmed and her armor), must be abandoned. Let us move forwards, then, into a new era of openness, effectiveness, and accountability, intent on preserving what ought to be preserved, perfecting was needs to be perfected, and pruning whenever we find practices that ought to be prohibited."

The hall was silent at the end of the speech. No one even noticed when Dumbledore stood up and began the announcements again. Harry looked beside him at the transfer student, wanting to tell her that this was not a normal year, but all he saw was the fist resting on the table, white-knuckled from tension. Harry decided against that course of action. He would prefer to remain whole, and that longsword at her side was not exactly the most encouraging response.

Airmed simply stared blankly at the staff table, listening with one ear to the rest of the announcements and trying not to show any reaction to Umbridge's speech. She knew that her fists were curled tightly, one on the table well within the reach of the slightly sharp eating knife and the other resting on her legs. She had to remind herself to breathe in and out, calmly and quietly, or else she would have thrown that knife right at the heart of that damned woman.

Well, one thing was for sure. This year was going to be interesting, to say the least.


	2. The Death of Every Day's Life

Dumbledore finally gave the signal for dismissal at the end of his announcements. Airmed quietly got to her feet and looked around, following the crowd of red-and-gold out of the hall and into the inner workings of this megalith.

She recognized the frizzy brown hair of one of the people that she had been introduced to during the feast: Hermione Granger. She and that obnoxiously red-haired young man were gathering the first years together, with the obvious intent of leading them to the dormitories. Well, what better way to find your way in a foreign place than to follow the crowd?

Airmed walked as quietly as she could, her chain mail making a fair amount of noise as she walked up at twenty flights of stairs, each flight consisting of thirty-five steps, before coming to the entrance to the tenth floor. She listened to the crowds around her as she followed the Gryffindor first-years through a series of hallways to a tower entrance; it was guarded by a portrait of an extraordinarily fat woman garbed, once again, in that hideous colour of pink.

Hermione stopped in front of the portrait and addressed the people gathered around her. "This is the entrance to the Gryffindor common room. Remember this portrait, because there are many portraits in this castle and not all of them are willing to help out lost students. You must also remember the password, for it will be changed every three weeks. Without it, you cannot gain admission into the common room or the dormitories." Turning back to the portrait, she spoke once more. _"Mimbulus mimbletonia."_

The portrait hinged open to reveal a passageway. Airmed simply cocked an eyebrow as the first-years looked around in awe at the opulent red-and-gold decorations around them, the plush chairs and couches situated near a roaring fire, and the antique portraits around them; their occupants were talking amidst themselves at the new additions to Gryffindor House. Airmed noticed that there were three large tables, also surrounded by comfortable chairs, which were most likely used for school assignments or social interaction. This was a comfortable, if not an ostentatious, meeting room.

"Welcome to the Gryffindor Common Room. Now, the boy's dorms are at the top of the left staircase, and the girl's dorms are at the top of the right staircase. Professor McGonagall will be in shortly to make a speech to you all, so please find a place to sit and relax for a moment." The two prefects sat near the fireplace as the first years spread out. Euan looked across the common room and smiled at Airmed as she walked towards the wall nearest to the girl's staircase.

Taking a sigh of relief, Airmed reached for her left shoulder and unhooked the leather band that kept her glaive and bow in place before leaning against the wall. Sighing once more, she smiled as Euan and four of the ten other first years sat on a couch and waited patiently for Professor McGonagall to come and talk to them.

They did not have to wait long. Only a matter of minutes after the portrait had closed on them, it opened once more to reveal McGonagall and a gaggle of older students chattering behind her. She waited until they had gone upstairs before addressing the first years.

"Welcome to Hogwarts, and welcome to Gryffindor House! I am Professor McGonagall, your Head of House. I am also the Deputy Headmistress, as well as your Transfiguration Professor.

"Gryffindor House has a long and proud history of courage and bravery, but that does not entitle you to go off and seek danger. This school is based on a system of House Points: do good work for your House, and you will earn points; misbehave or break the rules, and you will lose points. The House with the greatest number of points by the end of the year will earn the House Cup, an honor that Gryffindor House has held for the last four years.

"Meals are served at 7:30 in the morning, noon, and at 5:30 in the evening. Do not be late, or you will go hungry. I expect all of you to behave in a manner befitting of the house of Godric Gryffindor. If you have any questions, my office hours are Monday, Wednesday, and Friday from 6:30 to 8:30 in the evening. If you ever find yourself in need, find anyone of your housemates; if not, find one of the Prefects, the Head Boy or Girl, or myself. With that, have a good night, and I will see you tomorrow at breakfast." Everyone gathered began to move away to the promise of warm beds. "Sir Wolfshead, a moment?" People stared at the transfer student, and began to whisper amongst themselves as she walked towards the portrait entrance and the Deputy Headmistress, her weapons in hand.

They walked for a moment until Professor McGonagall found an empty classroom. The teacher locked the door behind her before turning back, a teary smile on her face. Airmed's face matched as she walked the short distance to hug her. She was tall enough to rest her chin on the older professor's shoulder, but McGonagall had more strength in her embrace.

"My darling niece…" McGonagall sniffled a touch as she pushed Airmed back and ran her middle-aged hands over her niece's scarred face. "It has been far too long."

Airmed allowed herself to be pushed away as she drank in the look of joy on her favorite aunt's face. It had been too long since her last visit, for so much had happened since then. On the Isle since the beginning of the war, everyone was required to serve in the army for a mandatory minimum of fifteen years before being allowed to pursue another career. Minerva McGonagall, born Morgana Lionsbeard and raised on the Isle, was renowned among the veterans as an expert in transfiguration, but she was also a remarkable duelist. After her fifteen years of service, she trained to become a teacher, moving to Scotland and getting employed at Hogwarts, even changing her papers to fit her new story and swearing oaths to never tell of Manx life unless given permission by a serving knight. When Airmed and her brothers and sisters were born, Aunt Morgana would come every year to celebrate their natalities.

"It was only this spring, Aunt Morgana." Airmed let the hands wander along her scars, along the cheekbones echoed in her father's line, Morgana's brother. "Thank you for the wonderful present. They will surely serve me well, and I treasure them."

"And that display in the Great Hall? Well done!" They both sat on the tops of desks, looking at each other. "People will be talking about that one for many years to come." There was silence between them for only a moment. "How are Drustan and Marcus?"

Airmed's face turned dark at the mention of those two names. "Marcus is well. His wife is recovering from her miscarriage, and they talk about having another child later this year. Drustan… Drustan is dead." Minerva simply closed her eyes at the news. "Killed three weeks ago by a Cwn Annwn's bite to his throat. " She hung her head, not allowing her voice to break. "I set him on his way to Tir na nOg and Manannan's embrace two days later, along with the five others that died with him. The fifteen dark ones, as well as the Cwn Annwn that they took down with them, were left for the crows and the Morrigan."

Neither of them did anything for a while, both of them remembering fallen loved ones. There had been too many, but there was always the hope that they would win this war. McGonagall was the one to break the silence. "Be aware, Airmed, that outside of private meetings such as this, I am Deputy Headmistress of this school and Head of your House. Until tonight, I have never seen your face, and I called you in here to hand you this," she pulled out a map of Hogwarts, "and to explain to you the rules of Hogwarts. And because I do not know you in such a personal manner, you will receive no special treatment from me if you break the rules. Understand?"

"Crystal clear, Aunt Morgana… I mean, Professor McGonagall." They exchanged one more embrace before leaving the classroom to head back to their respective rooms. Airmed found the portrait of the Fat Lady and spoke that (very strange) password. Walking through the portrait hole and past the whispering little people, she headed up the stairs and into the fifth-year girl's dormitory.

"Kill it! Kill it!" As Airmed opened the heavy door, the sight before her eyes was ridiculous at most. Three girls, all in semi-states of getting ready for bed, were screaming and squealing at something on the fourth empty bed, presumably her own. The frizzy-haired prefect had her wand out when Airmed saw what was frightening them so.

"Don't kill it!" She held out a hand to stop the eminent spell. Walking slowly, she came to her bed and held out her hand, letting the midnight black smooth-scaled snake wind itself along her arm, coming to curl around her shoulder with its head next to her ear.

Lavender, Parvati, and Hermione watched on in a state of horror as the snake spoke in a strange language into the transfer student's ear. What was even more horrifying was that she responded to the snake in the same language. When they were finished, the snake slithered away to hide under the bed. The only thought going through their heads was: was this new girl a Dark Lady in the making? She was a Parselmouth, for how else could you explain what they had just witnessed?

Airmed sat on the side of her bed and rubbed her tired eyes, noting that all three of the year mates were scared out of their wits. Sighing, she knew that an explanation was in order if any of the three were going to be able to sleep this night. "Don't be afraid. Gwydion's nothing to fear. He doesn't bite, despite being highly poisonous. He is charmed to transmit voices through his mouth. That is how we relay messages to one another in the Academy and on the Isle. It is similar to your owls. "

As she talked, she began to unbuckle her greaves from her shins. They were Aunt Morgana's gift to her for her last natality. They were made of dragon hide, charmed with runes for resistance against weapons and spells. As were the norm with greaves, they buckled at the back of her lower leg over her breeches, so that they did not interfere with her movements but they still protected her from stray low blows. Thus far, they had served her well. She undid her belt and loosened the strings of the pouch at her left hip.

"Then what were you speaking to it?" Lavender's eyes were narrowed as the three of them sat on their beds.

"Manx. It's my native tongue. Everyone speaks it on the Isle, as well as Gaelic and English." She chuckled a bit as she unpacked her pouch. "I'm no…" she paused to find the correct word. "No Parselmouth! No, I'm not a dark one." Her brows furrowed for a moment. "Well, time to get out of this, then." She picked up a miniature trunk with her two fingers from inside of the pouch. With a brief wink, the trunk in her hand grew to its normal size.

Without a single word or an acknowledgement of the amazed looks on her roommates' faces, she placed the wooden trunk at her foot of her bed and pressed her thumb on the steel lock. That seemed to be the opening mechanism, as the lid popped open with a quiet 'click'.

She turned to the girls as they now watched her with curiosity. She placed her belt and weapons aside on the bed and, lifting her chainmail coif back on her head, shucked off her tabard; as soon as she took it off, it reverted back to its original blue-black colouring. At that moment, she turned to the girls with a nervous look in her eye. "Can one of you help me with my hauberk? The knots in the back are a little difficult to reach."

Parvati, after some silent discussion between the three friends, was the one to volunteer. Airmed turned around and pointed to the nape of her neck. "There's three knots there, where the coif meets the hauberk. I'm never able to reach them without help." The ties were of tightly woven fabric and the knots were tied quite securely, so it was difficult to get them undone.

While Parvati was doing that, Airmed's left hand deftly undid the knots on her right arm at her wrist, below and above her elbow, and near her shoulder joint, and vice versa on the other arm, to loosen her sleeves. The coif soon hit the floor with a resounding 'thunk'. All that remained was the hauberk itself. It was made, quite simply, for the wearer to slip into and out of. Parvati grabbed the neck of the chainmail and Airmed pulled herself out like an eel.

"My thanks…" She paused; how could she properly thank her without a name?

"Parvati Patil." The Indian girl walked back to her bed, rubbing her cold hands against her pajama bottoms. When she sat down, she commenced with braiding her long black hair.

"Parvati. And you are?" She looked over at the middle bed.

"Lavender Brown." Her brown-blonde hair was loose and smooth around her porcelain face, away from her blue-green eyes as she bit her lip.

"And you are Hermione Granger, correct?" She stumbled over the pronunciation of the prefect's name, calling her 'Ermione.

"Yes." She paused and watched as Airmed knelt to the floor and carefully put her chainmail away in her trunk. "Why do you wear armor, and what did Professor McGonagall want to see you about?"

Airmed chuckled as she doffed her quilted breeches and the dark blue gambeson that she wore underneath her hauberk. "Not that it's your business, but this armor is the battle uniform of the Academy; consider it like a formal robe. We wear this to any auspicious event that is commanded of us to attend. Professor McGonagall asked to see me because she wanted to make sure that I understood the rules of this school, as well as to give me this." She picked up the map and showed it to them for a moment.

As she turned her back to the girls in order to slip into a pair of sleeping breeches and shirt, she heard all three of the girls gasp. "What? What is it?"

"What are those?" She felt a finger run along the tops of her shoulder blades, and she knew instantly to what they were referring to.

"Magical marks, symbols of my family. They are important to me." She gently pushed away the wandering hands by pulling down her sleeping shirt. "Don't pay them any mind." Her voice sounded hollow as she packed her belongings away in her trunk, locked it once more, and curled under the blankets, making sure to stick her dagger under her pillow.

The storm never ceased during the night. Rolling thunder, white bursts of lightning, and the late summer rains were a comforting reminder of home. This was another test, was the thought coming through Airmed's mind as sleep took her into his dark embrace.

* * * * *HPatKoM* * * * *

"What's going on?" Harry and Ron looked at their dorm-mates as they chatted about the young knight sleeping among the girls. Harry, in particular, was confused as to the significance of the event that had taken place over dinner. When he was younger and without getting caught, he had borrowed books from the school library about knights. If Uncle Vernon had seen those books around the house, he would have been beaten for being a troublemaker. So he knew what knights and chivalry generally were in the Muggle world. But what was the Isle of Man? Why did they still have knights? Were they even more backwards than the magical world here in Britain?

Neville, in truth, was the one to explain. Placing his nightclothes aside, he sat on his bed and looked into the flames of the massive brazier in the middle of the room. "My gran used to tell me stories, about the Knights of Mann. They're legendary!" His eyes grew glazed over as he remembered the old words.

"The Isle of Man is a mysterious place now, but before two hundred years ago, they traded with us, with Scotland, with Wales, and with Ireland. Ancestrally, they protected us from foreign invaders and from magical melees. It was home to some of the most powerful sorcerers ever. Gran told me that they started training at an early age, and they never stop. They grow old, yes, but it was rumored that they can lived for up to something like three hundred years before dying.

"The knights themselves are true warriors. Trained in the medieval fashion, they learn chivalry, logic, laws, jousting, archery, and training with multiple weapons. Both boys and girls are accepted, although there are usually more boys. Anyone could become a knight, but it is a choice that requires great thought and commitment; others could join the standing army, become scholars and teachers, stay farmers, or take on a trade if they chose not to follow the path of the knight. All of these paths bore honor and standing in the Manx society.

"Regardless of what path they chose, they were creators and growers. Muggle and wizard lived side-by-side in almost unity. They learned, they played, and they worked with each other. A king and a queen ruled over them; there were always two, to keep the balance. The monarchs themselves were tied to the magic of the land, and had to pass it on to their heirs before dying in order to keep the chain unbroken.

"However, two hundred years ago, Britain closed its doors to Mann. Trade was stopped; we abandoned them. In retaliation, the Isle is now unplottable and under heavy-duty Fidelius Charms. I never found out why they were forsaken by us, only that my gran cries about that day when she thinks that I'm not looking. No one can find it and no one can visit it anymore, save with the express permission of the king and when accompanied by a knight. They grew insular, and continued as they always had."

The fire cracked for a while, the only sound in the room. No one spoke, for they were thinking about what Neville had spoken. Seamus turned to him, a clear question on his face. "How do you know so much about this?"

"Because my father's line is from the Isle of Man." Neville looked at them all. "There are cases where Manxmen leave the Isle and come here, but the reasons remain a secret. They are forbidden from sharing any secrets about Mann, unless given permission by a knight. My grandfather's-grandfather's-grandfather was a Manxman, before he emigrated here and started the Longbottom line."

"What were you talking to her about, mate? At the beginning of the feast?" Dean sprawled out on his bed, letting the grandness of the meal and the warmth of the dorm room allow him feel languid.

Neville nodded to him. "It's a tradition to share a cup with a guest. It's a sign of hospitality. She expressed interest in who some of us were, and I obliged her curiosity." Harry got the feeling that Neville wasn't telling the whole truth, but he let it slide for the moment.

"What did she call herself again? Air-med?" Ron's pronunciation was provincial: he called her 'air-mid'.

"Her name's Gaelic, dumbass." Believe or not, that was Seamus. Heads turned and looked at him with shock or confusion. "It's pronounced 'are-med'. It's the name of one of the old pagan gods. She was a healer. My ma used to tell me stories when I was younger."

That was the end of that discussion as he whipped the curtains around his bed closed. Everyone headed off into their beds, sleeping against the rumbling thunderstorms. All of them were thinking about this mysterious knight now in their school. What could it mean?


	3. I Soar: I am a Hawk

Birds were singing in the air and the trees in the forest were creaking in the slight breeze as Airmed opened her eyes to the pre-dawn light. She quickly shook off the dregs of the sleep from her senses, waking up and observing everything. The breeze this morning was brisk, but not brisk enough to worry about layering up too much for practice; summer still was holding on to this land. Her sleep was restless: the bed was far softer and more comfortable than she was used to: give her a hard mat on the ground or a stiff cot from the dormitories any day over this. Her dorm-mates were still asleep, letting their dreams overtake them and refusing to wake until the last possible moment. She? She was about her people's business, the business of the Knights of Mann.

As she laid in her bed for a few minutes, she looked to her right wrist and hand: more specifically, she looked to the tattoo outlined there in blue woad. She remembered just how much it had hurt getting that etched into her skin earlier this year. She had gotten it in the old fashion: she had to hold her arm and hand still as the artist tapped the tips of sharp steel needles into the design marked out, before going over it in woad to scar blue. It was yet another achievement for her, to show others that she was a member of the Order of the Dragon. It was a great honor, proof of the rigorous education that she had gone through in addition to her training as a Knight.

The Wolfshead clan has always enjoyed a tie of friendship with the Druidson line, the line of her current queen. Her mother, Aithne Wolfshead, was the close friend to Queen Ethne. It was always part of her mother's dream for her youngest daughter to become one of the select few, the priests and priestesses of Mann. In between weapons training and her schooling, the Queen had personally tutored Airmed about the religion of their people whenever they both had time. The Queen had her own daughters to teach as well, but Airmed was her protégée in the ways of the lore and the rituals that her people used to pray. There was barely time for any extra-curricular activities, but her family and her fiancé understood what she was undergoing.

The tattoo there held many meanings for her. It was a dragon, its wings outstretched over top her forearms. Its head and neck were on the top of her hand, its serpentine tongue sticking out near the webbing between her thumb and forefinger. For her, it symbolized the power and potential resting in everything that she did, from learning to fighting, to loving and mourning. For those Manxmen that understood what it meant, it told them that she had attained the rank of priestess within the Order and had the knowledge of the old ways stored in her head. It was also a sign to her of her own special gifts when she attained her mage rank at thirteen.

She was not even twenty years old, and yet she had accomplished so much. However, at the same time, she had given up so much as well. The balance always needed to be kept. Whatever blessings and gifts she had received were always tempered with the sorrow and bitterness of loss. There was always a balance.

Maybe one day, she could relax enough to see all the good that she had done in the names of her sovereigns and of the gods. She dreamed about moving back into the Wolfshead family home, living there with her fiancé and her nieces and nephews. She imagined, sometimes, children of her own with black hair and the golden eyes of their father. However, there was still much to be done before that could happen.

Throwing her legs over the side of the bed, she began to stretch out the cricks in her neck and the stiffness in her back. When she felt warmer despite the chilly air in the tower, she began to roll her shoulders, elbows, wrists, hips, knees, and ankles, helping to keep her muscles loose and warm. Her training masters, her brothers, and her sisters had drilled into her from an early age the importance of warming her entire body before going into her workout or on a patrol. That was how preventable injuries were avoided. Right not, additional injuries were something that she could not afford.

Setting her feet on the cold stone floor, she reached for the dagger underneath her pillow, turning in her hands several times. She never went anywhere without it, and for good reason. This had saved her life more times that she could count. Besides that, it had great sentimental value to her; it was akin to someone carrying around a snippet of hair in a locket. The dagger itself was a simple piece: twelve inches of folded steel from Sidhe lands, the ripples of the blue-grey metal showed off the quality of the blade. The sheath was hardened leather, stamped in the centre of it with a protection charm hybridized with a triskellion. Where the cross-guard met the top of the scabbard, there was a small stamp of a wolf's head, her family emblem. Its innocuous appearance belied the fact that it had taken many lives, both human and creature.

Removing her mind from such macabre thoughts, she walked on silent feet to her trunk. This was a natality gift from Drustan when she was seven and living at the Academy with the rest of her living family. The wooden affair was of solid oak, with steel corner-pieces and hinges. It, too, held its own set of secrets.

As she placed her thumb against the lock, she felt the prick to the pad of her thumb as it keyed in to her essence and unlocked. It was a handy spell, a combination of warding and a little smidgeon of blood magic. In her studies of British law and customs, she was shocked to learn that no magical practices like blood magic, death magic, or dangerous defensive spells were taught; in fact, they were considered illegal. In the Academy, they were taught all different kinds of magic, but they were drilled on the importance of using their magic for good or evil. Everything had a place and a use; nothing was inherently evil. As a result of that combination of warding and blood magic, no one could access her belongings unless she and she alone keyed their essence into the locking mechanism. Otherwise, what was private remained private.

She thanked Drustan every time she opened up this trunk, but in addition, today she was struck by how much she missed him. At the time, she was with another scouting party in the field when he was attacked and killed, but Marcus was with him and made sure that he was properly avenged. But still… family was family, and she was quickly running out of them. She shook her head: she had to stay in the moment. That required her to look into her trunk.

For all those not keyed in, the top of the trunk would seem to be filled with a black mist. It was a moderately difficult charm that Airmed had mastered when she was eight: a privacy charm, allowing only those that she had keyed into the lock to see what was inside. If by some miracle someone had bypassed her locking mechanism, or if she opened the trunk with others present, they would not be able to see what was in this trunk.

As with everything else in Airmed's life, her belongings were organized so that she could find everything without any problem. It was a six-compartment magical trunk, the inside enhanced with charms that made the space larger than the exterior seemed to be. She never had to shrink the things that she needed inside of the trunk, only when she would put them in the pouch on her belt. The first compartment consisted of her clothes: tunics, pants, formal robes, boots, belts, as well as her chainmail, gambesons, and tabards. The second compartment held her books: it consisted of all of the textbooks that she had been required to get in order to attend Hogwarts, plus her staggering personal collection and journals. Her journals were all written in her personal code so that no one would be able to easily decipher her work by looking over her shoulder. The third compartment was for her potion-making equipment: cauldron, knives, scales, and small glass jars of every fathomable potion ingredient kept fresh under a series of stasis charms. There were also vials of potions that she had made, also under stasis charms. The fourth compartment was for her weapons, all laying flat and waiting for use. The fifth compartment had her weapon cleaning kits. The sixth… the sixth compartment was private and locked to everyone but her.

Working with the engrained sense of having done these actions thousands of times, Airmed pulled out her practice sword, glaive, her bow and quiver of arrows, and placed them on the floor beside her. Next, she took out her quilted jacket, breeches, and her belt pouch. The quilted jacket, unlike her regular gambesons, was weighed down with almost thirty pounds of stones sewn into the central lining. As a young girl in training, it was to help her increase her stamina and endurance. As a Knight, she wore this during her exercises to help her to keep ready and fit, for nothing was worse in her mind than being unprepared for anything that might happen. Finally, she took out her winter boots, lined with fur to keep her feet warm against the dewy grass.

With practiced ease, Airmed shrunk her weapons with a thought and a wink and carefully packed them into her pouch before tying the pouch to her belt. Donning her workout clothes and getting her boots on, she spared another glance for her sleeping classmates, before shaking her head and coming to stand. It appears that she was going to be the outlier in this group, but that was fine by her. In fact, being different made things interesting in an otherwise stagnant social situation.

This was always the best part of the morning, at least for her. Reaching inside of her, she felt for her magical core; it was like a fire inside of her heart, burning with the strength of a bonfire. Reaching for one of the flames near the outside of the central blaze, she allowed herself to undergo one of her animal transformations. It was a second in real time as she felt her body rearrange itself into her peregrine falcon form. It was easier than it appeared, but it was hard to explain verbally. She had to take many lessons in animal anatomy, both normal and supernatural, and it took her almost a year of nonstop practice before she could control this particular gift and summon it at her will and only at her will. The practice and the training was well worth it in the end.

It was awkward, walking as a bird. Airmed took great care in making sure that the strings of her pouch were well within her talon's grasps before she flew to the casement. She got herself settled before taking a deep breath. With two strong flaps of her wings and a push with her hind muscles, she was in flight.

Oh! Flying was the best part of the day! She let out a cry of delight as she barrel-rolled lazily around the parapet that was Gryffindor Tower. The thermals and air currents under her wings and sleek-lined body made her feel free… free from the war, free from her responsibilities, free from everything. There was nothing to stop her right now from flying away forever, living in a new land under a new name and forgetting all about the war. There was nothing, but her oaths.

Breaking her oaths… that would never happen. People back home were counting on her to help them continue fighting and winning against the darkness when she returned from her mission here at Hogwarts. Her fiancé was waiting for her, so that they could be handfasted as one. Her brother was waiting for her, so that they could fight side by side once more. Her rulers and her commander were waiting for her, so that she could lead her forces once more into victory. Her euphoria sobered with that chilling thought, she turned her attention to the expansive grounds.

As she flew over the grounds, Airmed took in everything she saw, cataloguing it into her memory. A massive throng of deciduous and coniferous forests bordered the western half of the grounds. That must have been the Forbidden Forest that Dumbledore mentioned last night. She could spy a herd of centaurs running in the forest; a possible group of allies to the wizards living here, maybe? She spied a small wattle-and-daub hut in the buffer zone between school and forest. Was this maybe the house of a gamekeeper? She shrugged it off and considered it unimportant information. No smoke was curling from the chimney, telling her that no one was living there for the moment. Near the forest was a massive lake, apparently fed by the icy runoff from the mountains around the castle and grounds. As she glided over the immaculately kept lawns and the five greenhouses roughly the size of a small house each, she spotted the perfect place to exercise not that far off in the distance.

An outdoor arena of some sort allowed her all of the space and privacy to go through her morning routines. The sun was just beginning to rise over the horizon, giving her a rough hour to exercise and still leave her time to get ready before breakfast. As she rode the current, she transformed about fifteen feet above the pitch into her human form. Somersaulting until she landed on the ground in a crouch, Airmed took a deep inhale and smiled. It was time to go to work.

Picking at the ties of her pouch to reveal its contents, she re-enlarged her weapons and leaned them against the structure of the stands. Rolling her shoulders to settle the weights in the jacket, she started to jog, run, and sprint, alternating between the three of them every lap. The rhythm of her feet, the weight of the stones on her entire body, her legs pumping, her arms swinging, and her breath filling up her lungs to their capacity… it was like a form of meditation for her. Her mind cleared itself after the second lap. She was sweating slightly after the fourth lap, the heavy cotton of her jacket sticking to her torso. By the time the sixth and final lap had finished, she was only beginning to pant. Most people would probably be on their knees with their bodies in agony, but not her. Airmed had done this particular brand of exercise too many times for it to be a great hardship for her.

She was not done yet. Falling to the ground where she had stopped running, Airmed proceeded to slowly work her way through one hundred push-ups, one fisted hand on the ground at a time before switching. After that, it was full-body sit-ups: she hooked her legs over the barricade of the lowest stands and let her weighted body hang down for a moment before slowly lifting her torso to her knees and down, over and over for one hundred repetitions.

With about half an hour left in her estimated workout time, she landed to the ground and pulled out her weapons. She started with her longbow. This was the only live weapon that she ever trained with outside of a combat situation. It was a fifty-pound draw, made of good solid yew tipped with dragon tooth, with a string of braided unicorn hair and Acromantula silk. The oak arrows were fletched with shed griffin feathers, and the tips were razor-sharp steel arrowheads. Airmed only used shed griffin feathers because they were freely given. She did not want to experience an angry griffin coming after her if she was stupid enough to steal feathers from its tail or wings. With that blessing, the griffin feathers alone made the arrows worth their weight in gold: they never missed a target under her keen and far-seeing eye.

Airmed explored the arena for a few moments, trying to unearth a good target without having to create one with her magic. Today, she was in luck. The stands, covered with fabric displaying what she assumed were the House crests, were made of maple, a strong hard wood thick enough to take the brunt of her blows. She chose the badger symbol itself as the bottom of her target: her goal was to hit the small black box above the crest. It was not the same as shooting with the targets back home, but it would suffice for now.

If anyone other than a Manxman had witnessed what the young Knight had done next, they would have fainted, wet their pants, run away in fear and terror, or most likely a combination of all three. With a grim face, she loaded and fired fifty live arrows from one hundred paces in two and a half minutes all told. Every arrow hit the target square in a tight clustered group.

Even with that, she was not finished yet. That was only just the start. As soon as she was done pulling the arrows out of the maple strut, she dropped her bow and quiver to the ground and picked up her sword and began to run through five drills. Her practice sword was no toy, either. It was a replica of her two-handed longsword, and it weighed thirty pounds easily. It was inexpensive folded steel with five pounds of additional weight added to the undecorated pommel. Each position she struck was held for two seconds, every ounce of power in her body used in every pose. This made the position stick into the muscle memory, making her remember under both calm and duress. It helped her to react quicker in battle situations.

As a cool down, and as the lighter section of her remaining workout, she brought out her glaive. It was an odd weapon for those that had never seen one before, but it was one that she excelled in using. A six-foot quarterstaff weighed with five lead pegs approximately five pounds apiece and tipped with a foot-long dulled blade, it was similar to a halberd in the sense that it was used as a long weapon. Unlike a halberd, a glaive was used for more than simply stabbing; it was a slashing weapon as well. She ran through two pattern drills, the staff moving through the air like a fish through water.

By now, the sun was rising above the horizon and shining on the castle walls, illuminating the dull grey rock into… less dull grey rock. Airmed sighed as she gathered her weapons and shrunk them back into the pouch. Transforming back into her falcon form, she gathered the pouch once again and took off back for Gryffindor Tower. It was time to get ready for her first set of classes.


	4. Many a Glorious Morning Have I Seen

Hermione's eyes were just opening up as the rising sun shone through the tower window. After two months of summer, she was accustomed to waking up later in the day. Now she would need to get herself back into the rhythm of waking up earlier in the morning. She moaned into her pillow as she turned in bed, hoping for another few minutes of respite before having to leave the warmth of her blankets. She never noticed a falcon flying to the stone casement and transforming into the new transfer student. If she did, then she probably pushed it aside as the remnants of a dream that she was thoroughly enjoying.

As she landed and stood up, Airmed chuckled once as she saw her still-slumbering dorm-mates. Very little enforced physical discipline appeared to be a common trait among these Gryffindor students. Beyond walking in between classes, there seemed to be no other physical activity pursued by all students. Maybe, though, that observation was premature. She was instructed to come to this place with an open mind. There was no need to narrow her vision because of her own values. Well, at least they were still asleep to allow her a simple joy. The early risers always get the hot water in the Academy dormitories, and it appeared that the same held true here.

She stripped off her sweaty exercise clothes and laid them out on the top of her trunk to dry out a little before pulling out a clean uniform. Dumbledore mentioned something about house elves that do laundry during her orientation in the days before the Opening Feast, but she did not wish to disturb them so early in the morning. If they came around to clean her belongings, then she would need to leave them something in return as thanks. Maybe she would leave a small bouquet of the wildflowers she saw out by the lake, or a small thank-you note. It was a kind gesture, one deserved for all of their hard work.

On the Isle of Man, they might have been considered old-fashioned in their ways, but everyone, from the young to the old, all appreciated the comforts of a hot bath. Airmed smiled wide as she walked into the bathroom and found a human-sized tub waiting for her, full to the brim of steaming water. Conn had probably told Dumbledore about her routine, and this was his attempt at making her stay more pleasant. Well, it was definitely working. Maybe this school was not as bad as she had thought last night as she ran up the muddy hills.

Airmed had to bite her bottom lip in sheer delight when she slowly submerged her whole body into the tub and let the hot water lightly scald her cold skin. Taking up the soap and brush provided, she scrubbed away the sweat and dirt from her limbs; she would not want to wake up her classmates with her joyful moaning. She grunted at the knots in her tangled hair as she tried to undo her braid, but she managed to clean all of the dirt from it and restore it to its original white. The soap stung on contact with some of her newer abrasions, but her pain was not as important as keeping her wounds clean. As she got out, loose and languid from the heat of the water, she pulled her wet hair away from her face and finger-combed it into a tight braid.

Lavender and Parvati were finally out of bed and beginning to get dressed as Airmed walked back into the room with a towel wrapped around her shoulders; Hermione's head was still covered with her pillow. The talking came to a slow stop as they noticed their new roommate remove the towel and lean slightly to pick up her uniform.

Airmed was built. That was the only way to describe her. As she slid into a pair of black dress pants, the muscles of her back, legs, and arms all rippled underneath her taut skin. Her shoulders were broad underneath the scarring seen in a new light this day. On her right arm was some blue ink; an old stain, maybe? As she turned around towards them and began to button up a white shirt, the Gryffindor crest newly-sewn onto the breast pocket, they saw tight bandages around her torso over top a muscled stomach that they, and more likely most boys, would and did envy to own for themselves. Another bandager was wrapped around her left upper arm. There was not an ounce of fat on her body anywhere; there were only cords of scarred hard muscles. With a small moment of incredulity, she stared at the tie in her hands. For the time being, she placed it on her bed. Before she slid into the black Hogwarts cloak, she broke tradition once more.

Over top of her shirtsleeves, Airmed buckled a set of vambraces to her forearms. Made of dragon hide, these were a mottled brown-black colour covering a molded piece of steel with three steel buckles on their underside. She looked so calm as she twisted her arms to make sure that they were secure and would not slip. Lavender noticed that, as Airmed slid her arms into the sleeves of the cloak, at the part closest to Airmed's elbow, there was a hawk in mid-flight stamped into the hide. The tops of her hands were covered by more chainmail, but it was secured to a steel ring that rested on her middle finger.

By now, all three girls were dressed for class. Breakfast was not going to start for another ten minutes, so they had a while to relax and talk among each other. Lavender saw Airmed struggle once again with the knots of her tie, and got off her bed. "Here, let me help." The Manxman glanced at her with a look of gratitude and let her show her how to tie the infernal piece of red-gold fabric.

"What is the purpose of wearing such things, Lavender?" Airmed seemed genuinely confused as she went through the motions of the half-Windsor knot a few times.

Lavender stood back, admiring her work. "Well, it's tradition, I guess. I don't know for sure. I've always worn one with my school uniform. It's just the way things are."

Airmed cocked her head looking at the strange knot around her neck. "Well, when in Rome…" That got a few laughs as she adjusted the fit of her vambraces.

Hermione was leaving the washroom from fixing her hair when she saw something glint on Airmed's right ring finger. "What's that?"

Airmed narrowed her eyes at the prefect as the girl pointed to her hand. "It's chainmail, 'Ermione. I thought we covered this last night."

"No, not that! That!" Stalking across the room, Hermione grabbed Airmed's right hand and pointed to the ring resting on the fourth finger. It was a beautiful piece of jewelry, but it was understated in its design. It seemed to have three symbols molded from the silver setting: a garnet heart between two joined hands, topped with a crown.

"It's none of your business." Airmed snatched her hand away. "Just because you are prefect, whatever that means and entitles you to do or have, does not entitle you to my life story." Her voice was soft but sharp, immediately chilling the air in the room. Parvati and Lavender stopped talking to look at the two feuding roommates. This would make excellent gossip, if they weren't so afraid of the Knight or the size of her sword from last night.

As Airmed knelt before her trunk and opened it, Hermione tried to peek into it; all her could see was black mist swirling over top, concealing the contents from her. "Why's your trunk like this?" Hermione sounded snotty, but truly underneath the bossy exterior she was concerned about the possibility of Dark Magic in Hogwarts. Staying at Grimmauld Place over the summer had made her slightly paranoid: Mad-Eye would be proud.

"It's a privacy spell, Granger. That is your cue to attend to your own business and leave mine to me." Out of the black mist, Airmed pulled out a leather satchel and filled it with black leather-bound notebooks, a case of quills and a small sharpening knife, a sealed inkwell, and a smaller leather book. She removed the pouch from her bed, and somehow pulled out a well-used pewter cauldron, a set of scales, a granite mortar and pestle, and a leather pouch of knives, stir-sticks, and spoons from the mist. All of those, Airmed shrunk and tucked into the pouch, before tucking that into the leather satchel. As an afterthought, she added in a silver hipflask of sorts, but not before taking a swig of its contents. Hermione was about to question her about the flask, but Airmed nearly growled at her for this continued disturbance. Instead, she simply huffed off to her bed and gathered up her own school supplies.

As Airmed closed her trunk, she sighed in frustration. "'Ermione, it's a claddagh ring." She felt a little bad about her earlier sharp retort: the Hogwarts girl was simply and hopefully just curious about her; perhaps that was all it was. Maybe if she answered a few not-so-personal questions, then maybe the inquiries would stop. At least, that was her hope.

"What?" All three of the girls looked confused at the unfamiliar term.

"It's a ring worn by my people to show off our romantic status. When a claddagh ring is worn on the right hand with the heart facing the wearer, it tells others that I am engaged to be married." Airmed raised her eyebrow, daring any of the girls to challenge her on this matter.

"ENGAGED?" Lavender and Parvati squealed like little mice, nearly breaking Airmed's eardrums. "Oh my goodness! Is he hot?" They exclaimed and asked at the same time.

Airmed simply laughed. "Yes, I'm engaged. And yes, he is quite attractive." Her face mellowed out for a moment as she thought about him and twisted the ring on her finger. "His name is Niamh Firebird. We have been engaged since we were children." She looked out the window at the remnants of the sunrise as the sun now shone with full force.

"Why so early?" Hermione stood there flabbergasted.

Airmed sighed, rubbing her palm on her face as she tried to explain something that was quite commonplace in her homeland. "As a tradition, every girl on the Isle of Man is betrothed to a boy at the age of five, before we begin our initial schooling. This allows for the two of them to learn to love each other as they grow up together. Life begins early on Mann, the responsibilities increasing at a younger age than here, apparently." She sat on the edge of her bed, rubbing the back of her neck.

"How old is he?" Parvati looked out the window. Airmed could see plainly on her face that she was picturing a handsome man riding out on a white charger coming to sweep her off her feet.

"He's one year older than me. Our mothers and fathers agreed that it was a good match. We grew up together in the Academy with our families. There was no one else, for either of us." She stared at the joined hands, the heart, and the crown of the ring with a look of subtle longing on her face. "He waits for me to return from here, and then we shall be married."

She looked to the three girls, a smile on her face. "Would you like to see a picture of him?"

"Yes!" Lavender and Parvati squealed loudly again. Hermione looked suspicious, like she did not quite believe that Airmed was telling the truth.

Airmed walked off her bed to her trunk. Opening it once more, she dug through the black mist until she found what she was looking for. Her eyes grew soft as she pulled out a small painted portrait. The girls gathered around as she held it in her hands.

The candid portrait was of three people standing and smiling in a stone hallway somewhere: Airmed, and two men. She pointed to a man a few inches taller than she was, with golden eyes and short-cut brown hair. Around his month was a closely shaved beard that covered his chin. He was wearing chainmail like she was, armed with two short swords crossed behind his back. Unlike Airmed, his tabard was decorated with a flying phoenix in full fire colors.

"This is Niamh, and the other man in Marcus." She pointed to the second man, with the same eyes as Airmed. His hair was blue-black almost, but even in the picture you could see small flecks of grey near his temples. This man was wearing the same tabard as Airmed: a relative, perhaps? "They are both waiting for me back home."

She took her dagger out from under the pillow and tied it to the belt at her hip, before putting the picture away. The slam of the trunk's lid startled the reveries of all three Hogwarts girls. "Now, I believe that it is time for breakfast." With that, she walked out of the dormitory and down the stairs into the Great Hall.

The boys of Gryffindor House looked at her with new eyes as she sat amongst them and joined in their conversations without drawing too much attention to herself. Her scarified eye kept many of them on edge, but with a quick smile and a twinkle in her right eye, she made them feel at ease. Neville introduced her to a few of the other Gryffindors and got them talking amongst themselves about benign things. No one wanted to talk about her strangeness, but she saw that they wanted to.

"Sir Wolfshead." She heard the 'Scottish' brogue of her aunt behind her, and duly turned around to face her. Aunt Morgana was hiding a smile on her face as she handed Airmed a piece of paper. "This is your class schedule for the school year. Your instructors have assured Headmaster Dumbledore that you would be able to keep up with the assigned workload."

"Thank you, Professor. I will endeavor not to disappoint you or my training masters." They shared a covert smile as she took the paper and nodded her head.

As the boys around her groaned over their apparently heavy schedules, Airmed simply swallowed back her goblet of pumpkin juice. She looked at the simple piece of paper in her hand and sighed softly. She would definitely not be busy this year.

**_Student Schedule  
_****_Fifth Year: Airmed Wolfshead, Transfer Student_**

**_Monday, Wednesday  
_**_8:00-9:50: Potions; Professor Snape  
__10:00-10:50: Ancient Runes; Professor Babbling  
__11:00-11:50: Arithmancy; Professor Vector  
__Lunch  
__1:00-2:50: Defense Against the Dark Arts; Professor Umbridge  
__3:00-3:50: Astronomy (Theory); Professor Sinastra  
__Dinner  
__10:00-12:00: Astronomy (Practical); Professor Sinastra_

**_Tuesday, Thursday  
_**_8:00-9:50: Transfiguration; Professor McGonagall  
__10:00-11:50: Charms; Professor Flitwick  
__Lunch  
__1:00-2:50: Herbology; Professor Sprout  
__3:00-5:15: Natural Philosophy (Self-Study)  
__6:00-8:00: Religious Studies (Self-Study)_

**_Friday  
_**_8:00-12:00: Dueling/Manx/Gaelic (Private Lessons)  
__12:00-1:00: Healing (Private Lessons)  
__2:00-5:00: Natural Philosophy (Self-Study)  
__6:00-7:00: Musical Studies (Self-Study)_

Seeing the schedule, she took out the small notebook that served to keep her organized and copied her schedule out. When she was done, she smiled and went back to her breakfast. She always enjoyed brewing potions, and she had been studying Arithmancy and Runes since she was seven years old. This day just might be fun. Of course, the peace was not meant to last.

"What sort of options are Dueling and Healing?" Without warning or cause, Hermione ripped Airmed's schedule out of her hand and gripped it tight, as if threatening to rip it in half would change her answer. "And what's Natural Philosophy, Religious Studies, and Musical Studies?" Hermione's brow furrowed and her face squished together in thought, making her look like a pit-bull.

"They are private lessons, Prefect." She held a waiting hand out for the schedule, but Hermione wouldn't give it up just yet. "Ones that I was taught on Mann and have no intention of stopping while attending Hogwarts."

"Are they offered to other students?" Was this child dense?

"No, hence the emphasis on 'private'."

"Give it back to her, Hermione." Airmed turned and saw Harry Potter staring at the both of them with a tired look in his eyes. Airmed knew what was ailing him right away: something was plaguing his sleep, be it nightmares or endless thoughts it was not certain right now.

With a huff, Hermione's hand slammed the schedule onto the table and stomped away. There was a look of quiet thanks on her face as Airmed turned back to him. "My thanks, Harry Potter. Is she always like this?" She waved a mail-covered hand in Hermione's direction. "She was quite forceful in her questions of me this morning in our dorm." She picked up a sausage and chewed on it thoughtfully.

"She's probably upset that she wasn't offered the chance to take those classes. Most likely, she'll go to Dumbledore and demand to join you." The redhead sitting next to Harry (his name was eluding her for a moment) with his mouth full of half-chewed food, tried to speak.

"She'll have a hard time of that." Airmed poured herself another goblet of pumpkin juice (the taste was still strange and foreign, but it was starting to grow on her). "Those classes are a condition of my transfer: they are important parts of my life back home. My training masters wouldn't have allowed me to temporarily transfer otherwise."

"What's a training master?" Harry's curiosity was piqued, and so was the redhead's.

"It's the Manx equivalent to a professor." Before Harry could ask more questions and learn more about this mysterious isle, she held up a hand. "Harry, I must insist that you ask no more questions about my schooling or the Academy. On that subject, I have sworn an oath of secrecy." She pointed with her chin to the head table. "Headmaster Dumbledore should have announced it the night before. It would have saved me from having to repeat it to all of the questioning."

She looked at the position of the sun out of the glass-paned bay windows behind the head table and made a quick mental calculation. "It's almost time for class. Can you help me find the Potions classroom?" Airmed pulled out her map and tried to find it with little success.

The redhead- Ron Weasley, she remembered at last- chuckled a bit. "Yeah, sure."

Harry saw the look of a potential prank in his best mate's eyes and stood up. "Come on. Better not be late, or Snape will kill you personally and use your innards for potion ingredients."

At that, Airmed only smiled. "A man after my own heart, then." She pulled out the small leather book and tucked her schedule inside of it. It was time for lessons.


	5. To Work Mine End Upon Their Senses

Harry led Airmed down to the dungeons, navigating through the labyrinthine hallways until they made it to the class. They were not the first to arrive, but they were not the last either. She noticed that the Gryffindors were not taking this class alone. There were others with a green and silver snake emblazoned on their breast pocket: Slytherins, if she recalled correctly. Harry pulled her over to a desk near the back of the classroom with Hermione and Ron, but she declined and moved closer to the front, snagging a desk to herself. Unclasping her cloak, she hung it carefully over her chair. After getting out a fresh notebook, quill, and ink, she leaned down and pulled out her pouch. She had anticipated that Potions might have been one of her classes today, and she prepared herself. She was just bringing her equipment back to normal size when Professor Snape walked in.

"Settle down." His voice, cold and commanding, immediately brought back memories of home. With a straight back and alert eyes, she placed all of her attention on Professor Snape. As she sat there, she noticed that the entire class had gone silent.

"Before we begin today's lesson, I think it appropriate to remind you that next June, most of you will be sitting an important examination, during which you will prove how much you have learned about the composition and use of magical potions." As he walked around the front of the class, he stopped at Airmed. "You, Ms. Wolfshead, are not qualified to take the OWLs as you are not a citizen of Britain. Therefore, I expect you not to waste my time with stupid questions and inane babbling. However, that does not mean that you will waste my time in this class." She simply nodded her head, before he continued in his opening speech. "For the rest of you, as moronic as some of you in this class are, I expect you to scrape an 'Acceptable' in your OWL, or suffer my… displeasure."

He moved behind his desk and stood and glared at them all. "After this year, of course, many of you will cease studying with me. I take only the best into my NEWT Potions class, which means that some of us will certainly be saying goodbye." She saw his lip curl into a sinister glare. "However, we have another year to go before that happy moment of farewell." Snape's voice grew soft. "Therefore, whether or not you are intending to attempt the NEWT level, I advise all of you to concentrate your efforts upon maintaining the high pass level I have come to expect from my OWL students."

Airmed grinned at the challenge. Oh, yeah: Professor Snape reminded her greatly of her training masters at home. And why not? If you saw it fit to waste a training master's time with useless frivolities not related to the lesson at hand, you would not receive a zero on the homework assignment. You would have been kicked out of the class, permanently. If you were a nuisance during the lesson, then harsher punishments were sought out then a simple banning from class.

Professor Snape posted a list of instructions and ingredients on the board, and told them to brew what he called the Draught of Peace. She narrowed her eyes: it was not one that she was familiar with, but she would do her best to make it properly.

As everyone dashed to the ingredients cupboard and Professor Snape sat behind his desk, she walked up to the blackboard and copied out the instructions in her notebook. She did not bother with quill and ink: she simply used her magic to copy the instructions word for word into her notebook. Later in her dorm, she would break the potion down into her code and add it to her potions manual, after cross-referencing all of the ingredients and making any notations of possible changes that could be made to the formula. Before going down to the ingredients cupboard, she spelled her cauldron to protect it and its contents from tampering.

Everyone around her was dashing to try and complete the potion. She quietly prepared all of her ingredients, making sure that everything was done according to the instructions set out for them. She put herself into the zone: that place and frame of mind where she was able to block out all distractions and focus solely on the task at hand. Professor Snape had a high quality of ingredients; why would he not, since he was obviously a master in his craft?

As they all began to brew their potions, Snape began to make rounds through the students, critiquing their work. There was an obvious favoritism for the Slytherins; was he their Head of House? Many in the class were having a hard time with the potion. When Professor Snape came around to her cauldron near the end of the class and saw the silvery vapors rising from the cauldron, he said nothing and passed her over. "For those that have managed to brew this potion correctly, I want a phial of it, labeled with your name, on my front desk. Your homework assignment: twelve inches on the properties of moonstone and its uses in potion making, to be on my desk at the beginning of next class. Now clean up and get out!"

Airmed cleaned up her desk and cauldron with a simple scouring spell, moving her hand over the used equipment and winking. With a leisurely pace, she replaced the borrowed ingredients back in the cupboard, making a note to bring her personal tools again for the next class.

She was about to pack up her books as the rest of the students were getting ready to leave, when it struck again: a spasm that constricted her arm and upper torso. Airmed tried not to let the pain show on her face, save for a biting of her lip and a closing of her eye, as she reached into her pouch and pulled out the hipflask.

Before she could take a swig of it to ease the spasm, Professor Snape took the flask from her. Airmed simply looked at him as he inspected it, but the pain in her ribs and arm was getting worse. She was going to have to take her potion easier in her exercises for a while; Donnchadh was not here to scold her about it, but she had yet to heal from the last skirmish.

Snape brought the flask to his nose and sniffed it. His face grew narrowed as he glared down at her. He saw that the students were looking at the two of them, and dismissed them all with a narrowing of his eyes. "Ms. Wolfshead, stay behind for a moment." Well, she had an order from a teacher, and she had no intention of leaving without that hipflask.

As the last student left, Snape stood behind his desk and looked at her with a hidden curious look. "Now, Ms. Wolfshead, explain to me why you are drinking a pain relieving potion?"

At the tone, she made herself stand at attention. "Sir, before coming to Hogwarts, I was involved in an…" That was when she saw it on his ring finger: a simple silver band with a small round piece of malachite set into it. "Sir, where did you get that?"

"Answer my question, Sir Wolfshead." He addressed her with her title? That was all the proof that she needed. Professor Snape was **cara Mann, **a friend of the Isle of Man. It was an honor granted a few, always for assisting a Manxman in a time of dire need. It meant that if it was needed, he could call upon the assistance of a Knight of Mann. More importantly, he had some idea of what was happening to her home.

"Sir, I was involved in a raid four days before coming to Hogwarts. I broke five of my ribs on my left side, as well as my upper arm. I was not the worst injured, and so the healers gave me this to drink after three days of bed-rest and a course of bone-knitting potion. I was instructed to take a sip whenever I felt pain from the healing." She lifted up her sleeve and pointed to the tight bandaging around her upper arm. Unbuttoning her shirt, she revealed the tight bandaging around her upper torso. "I have one week left in the potion; at that time, I was to report to the healer here and allow her to assess the progress of my healing."

She re-buttoned her shirt and looked at Professor Snape, her hand out for her flask. He passed it to her without a word and let her tuck it back into her pouch after a much-needed swig. Before she left, she turned and bowed her head to him. "My thanks, **cara Mann**_._"

She made to leave, but she stopped at the doorway. "Professor?" He looked up at her. "What books would you recommend for potion making? I have a skill back on the Isle, and wish to continue to work on that while I attend Hogwarts."

Professor Snape stared at her for a moment, before writing out a list on a piece of parchment. "The potion labs are open on the weekends, and during spare classes. Speak to me before hand when you wish to use them. And, do not leave them a mess. That would… displease me." She nodded her head, walked out of his class and made her way to the staircases.

Ancient Runes was on the fifth floor, according to the map that Aunt Morgana had given her, and she only had five minutes before class was to start. Shrinking her satchel and tucking it into her pouch, she transformed into her falcon form and shot up into the air. As she landed on the floor, she transformed once again and walked into the classroom without a hair out of place.

She entered the mixed-house classroom just as the professor entered as well. A middle-aged man dressed in deep forest green robes, about forty years of age, came to the front of the class and placed his books on the desk. His dark brown hair was tied off at the nape of his neck with a ribbon, but his hazel eyes were kind as they looked over the class. "Welcome to Fifth-Year's Ancient Runes. For those new to Ancient Runes, I am Professor Babbling. As you know, this is the year of your OWLs, and I expect nothing less than an 'Exceeds Expectations'. For this month, we will learn nothing new, but we will review everything that I've taught you the last two years to make sure that you have a solid foundation for the rest of the material this year." With that, Airmed's second class of the day began.

Runes class was actually quite easy. Professor Babbling wrote down the Elder Futhark runes used by the Vikings on the board and they all reviewed the basics of the translation; most of the students were struggling with the simplest of these runes, and none of them knew half of the information pertinent to each. Airmed was bored to tears. She had known this material, in all of its depth, since she was ten. She placed her head on the desk for a moment, trying to relieve the headache building in the front of her skull without banging her head into the desk when she noticed the quiet in the class. She lifted her head and saw the entire class looking at her.

"Ms. Wolfshead, are we going too fast for you?" Professor Babbling looked quite concerned for her. Airmed berated herself for showing how she felt and sat straight in her desk.

"No, sir. It's just that I already have these runes memorized." She pointed to the notes on her desk.

"All right, then. What's this one?" The teacher pointed to a rune on the blackboard.

"_Berkana, _sir; the Anglo-Saxon name is 'Beorc'. Its traditional meaning is 'birch', a tree often used as a symbol for new beginnings and new opportunities. Other meanings include growth, healing, nurturing, the birthing process, and compassion." She paused for a moment. "One of the rune poems associated with this particular one is: _The birch bears no fruit; yet without it seed it/ brings forth suckers/ for it is generated from its leaves./ Splendid are its branches and gloriously adorned/ its lofty crown which reaches to the skies._" Not once did she look through any notes or appear bewildered by the information she presented.

All the class was silent. Even Professor Babbling was impressed. Hermione looked at her like she was evil incarnate. Perhaps she was going to have some competition. That was just what she did not need this year…

"Well, it appears that your instructors were correct. What other sets of runes do you know about?"

Airmed bowed her head for a moment, remembering them all with clear precision in the back of her mind. "I know both the Elder and Younger Futhark, as well as the Anglo-Saxon Futhorc. With each rune, I know the names, correspondences, and at least two rune poems for each. I am also familiar with the mythological stories as per the origins of the Elder Furthark." She could feel the tension in the class, and she sighed. "I am quite familiar with the ogham script, as well as all of their connotations and meanings. The same holds true for Mayan, Aztec, and Incan pictographs, Egyptian hieroglyphics, and ancient Greek symbols."

"Thirty points to Gryffindor for impressing me with your knowledge. Come see me afterwards, Ms. Wolfshead." For the rest of the class, they focused on three runes of the Elder Futhark, slaving over the information that had left them over the summer. Airmed simply sat in class, copying out all of the information that she knew on the Elder Futhark, trying to make herself busy. She just might need to take a spare class instead of this. Her Potions essay still needed doing.

When the class was dismissed, she approached the desk and stood in front of Professor Babbling. It was the teacher to speak first. "I am impressed, Ms. Wolfshead, that you are able to answer my question like that. Not even Ms. Granger would have attempted that without referring to her notes." He tapped his fingers on his desk. "I'm going to talk to Professor McGonagall and see if you could drop this class. You are far too advanced even for the NEWT students. We were only going to cover the Elder and Younger Futhark this year, and how to use them in warding. I have a feeling that you are familiar with warding, aren't you?"

With a smile, Airmed pulled out her dagger and showed Professor Babbling the three ogham runes carved into the end of the pommel. ""It's a ward that I created a few years ago, using _luis, dair, _and _iohadh_. It allows the blade to never grow dull as I kill my foes, sacrificing those that have earned that end, and to offer them unto the farriers of the dead. Basically, it's a combination of a protection ward, a ward for increased strength and sharpness, and a ward to make sure that the blade never becomes weak or liable to break in battle. I made it when I was eleven." She placed the dagger back in the sheath and watched the cogs turn in her professor's mind.

"Very well, Ms. Wolfshead. You won't be able to write the OWLs anyway, so this class will quickly become monotonous for you. Yes, I give you permission- in fact, I give you approval to drop this class and use this time as a free period." He looked at the hourglass on the table. "Now, you had better get to your next class."

"Thank you, sir." Airmed picked up her bag and walked out of the class. Arithmancy was not far away, only on the sixth floor. She walked with a lilt in her step: so far, so good. There was just one more class, and then she could have something to eat.

"How did you do that?" A Ravenclaw stopped her just outside of the Arithmancy class. "No one save a Ravenclaw could have answered that question with that level of specificity!"

She sidestepped him into the classroom, but she did turn to answer him. "I've long memorized that set of runes. It is simply a matter of repetition and review, when I have the time." She sat down at her desk and waited for the class to begin.

The Ravenclaw, however, was not finished with her yet. He sat down next to her and looked her over. "How did you wound your eye like that?"

Airmed turned and looked at him, a soft glare in her eyes. "That, nameless boy, is none of your business." She was never happier in her life for a teacher to come into the class and begin her lecture.

"Welcome to OWL-level Arithmancy. I'm Professor Vector, and you are to listen closely. I want at least an 'Acceptable' from all of you on the final exam this year, but only those with 'Exceeds Expectations' will advance to my NEWT class. Arithmancy isn't hard; it is just practice." Professor Vector stood before them all with her hands clasped behind his back. Gray-shot black hair, eagle-sharp chestnut eyes, and dark navy robes made her appear far older than she probably was. "Now, pull out your workbooks and complete chapter one as review, to be handed in to me on Wednesday. Begin!"

Airmed loved learning Arithmancy; it was one of her favorite subjects. It just made sense to her, as she worked through the one hundred odd questions. It was the study of the magical properties of numbers, but a large portion of it was simply arithmetic. Algebra, trigonometry, and geometry… she had been taught this since she was about seven years old, and never did it grow dull. At least she would not be taking this class as a spare, but this was definitely one of the easier classes.

When Professor Vector dismissed them, Airmed had a smile on her face as she flew down to the main floor. Just as she landed, someone called her out.

"New girl!" She twisted her head to see one of the Slytherins from her Potions class walking up to her. "Breaking the rules on your first day? Not very impressive." The blonde-haired boy with the ferret features and the prefect badge sewn on his chest sneered at her, as his two thug-like bodyguards tried to look menacing.

"Where in the rules does it require me to travel to class on foot, prefect?" She looked them straight in their eyes. "I used no wand magic in between classes, either."

"Do you know who you're addressing?" The little boy puffed out his chest and tried to look bigger than what he truly was.

"I see a little boy about to be walked around as I go to lunch." As she did just that, she walked over to the Ravenclaw table and to a group of seated fifth-years. Their conversations stopped instantly as she came to stand behind them. "Is it okay if I sit here?"

"Why are you not sitting with the Gryffindors?" An Oriental girl with a thick Scottish accent looked at her peculiarly.

"Is there a rule or something of the same nature that is against sitting with another house than my own?" All of them shook their heads. "With that settled, I put this to you. I believe that since we are all students, we should get to know each other. It is only logical, as many of you will work with people from other houses when you graduate, correct?" This time, they all nodded in agreement. "Therefore, I ask again: is it okay if I sit here?" This time, they moved and shared a spot on the bench for her.

The Oriental girl introduced herself as Cho Chang, a sixth-year. The others were Terry Boot, Padma Patil (the twin of Gryffindor's Parvati), and Michael Corner (the boy that questioned her before Arithmancy). All of them were discussing their homework assignments, and so she pulled out the beginnings of her Potions essay and showed them. "Is there a library of sorts in Hogwarts? I need some additional resources for my essay, and I have some self-study assignments to complete for the end of the month."

All of them stared at her with an incredulous look, but it was Terry that told her, "The Library is the whole of the third floor, Ms. Wolfshead. Ask for Madam Pince; she's the librarian, and she will help you find what you're looking for."

"My thanks, Terry." She got up and nodded her head to them all. Pulling out her map, she marked where her classes were so far. After lunch, she had Defense and Astronomy theory. She walked over to Harry and tapped his shoulder as he finished talking with Hermione and Ronald. "Excuse me, but where's the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom?"

She gave the map over to her, and he pointed out. "Fifth floor, here." As she looked it over, she saw that it was right near the Ancient Runes class.

"Thanks, Harry." Before any of them could ask her anything, she walked off, transforming in the middle of the hall into the falcon and flying off to the library.

The librarian at the front desk nodded and sniffed as she transformed in front of the main desk. Without saying a word, Airmed looked at the massive collection of volumes and tomes and fell in love. This place was brilliant, albeit smaller than the library at home. She fell into a quick discussion about what was in the library with Madam Pince, who quickly became quite pleasant to talk once she got started on her books, before she was shooed away to get to class on time.

Little did she know what was in store in that class for them all…


	6. One May Smile, and be a Villain

Airmed was the first to enter the classroom, and immediately her stomach began to roll in disgust. Around the class were portraits of kittens in hot pink frames, all of them either meowing or scowling at her. She was tempted to plug her ears with wax at the incessant noise, but it would have been an undignified behavior for a Knight of Mann. Therefore, she took out her notebook and quill and waited for class to begin, sitting near the back of the room and trying her best to block out the incessant noise.

Others began to trickle in as the time drew closer for the class to start. It appeared to be a class for all of the fifth-years. She saw Harry and Ron sit next to each other, with Hermione at the nearest desk to them, but the class still seemed to separate itself out by House. Everyone, instead of reaching out and making friends with others of different Houses, seemed to prefer to spend time with their housemates. What was the purpose behind such a lack of unity?

A bored student began to charm a paper bird into flying around the class. Everyone was having fun sending it around the class until it was set afire and landed in ashes on Padma's desk. Everyone looked to the back of the class and saw Umbridge with her wand out and that ridiculous painted-on smile on her face.

"Good morning, children." By the gods, her voice was driving Airmed mad! Umbridge flicked her wand three times, and words on the blackboard began to appear. "Ordinary. Wizarding. Level. Examinations! O.! Or more commonly known as 'OWLs'!" She was talking to all of them like they were retarded little children, and Airmed tried her best to tune her out while keeping her respectful mask in place. By now, Umbridge stood in front of the class with her hands folded in front of her and was staring at them with that fake bright look in her eyes. "Study hard, and you will be rewarded. Fail to do so, and the consequences may be… severe."

She shrugged her shoulders and summoned four stacks of books to float among the students as each one of them hit a student's desk. "Your previous instruction in this subject has been disturbingly uneven." Airmed looked at the textbook on her desk, turning it over in her hands. It was a children's book. A children's book? What was this woman trying to teach? Well, Airmed sighed, at least she did not have to take the OWLs at the end of the year. Even if she did, she had been trained in methods of self-defense, both magical and non-magical, since she was five. "But you will be pleased to know that, from now on, you will be following a carefully-instructed and Ministry-approved course in defensive magic."

On the other side of the classroom, Hermione's hand shot up as she flipped through the first few pages. When Umbridge called on her, she asked, "There's nothing in here about _using _defensive spells?" Airmed turned through the pages and saw that, indeed, instead of teaching defense, this 'new' class was almost like teaching grown men and women to run for the armed guard and hope that they could fix it. Airmed rolled her eyes: this class was a joke.

At the inquiry from Granger, Umbridge tittered a laugh. "Using defensive spells? I can't imagine why you would need to use defensive spells in my classroom."

Ron spoke up this time. "We're not going to use defensive magic?" Airmed could not see his face from where she was, but he probably bore a confused look like the others around her. For herself, Airmed simply sat in her desk and lent nothing to the conversations.

"You will be learning about defensive spells in a secure and risk-free way." At least now that gummy smile was no longer on Umbridge's face. Instead, she was looking quite concerned at the questions, but she continued to talk to them like they were slow. When her gaze fixed on Airmed, she glared for a moment. "After all, those educated in Hogwarts should know that there is nothing that will require you to use practical magic in this class."

"What use is that? If we're going to be attacked, it won't be risk-free." Now it was Harry's turn to question her. Airmed looked quietly at Harry. She had to speak to him, in private. This train of thought of his could only lead to consequences that he was not prepared to face. For all that Umbridge was a bad teacher, she was still a person of authority. If she taught on Mann, (the sky forbid that it would ever happen) the whole class would have be reprimanded with five hours of punishment work in the stables or on watch-duty for their lack of respect.

Apparently, Umbridge had enough of the questions. "Students will raise their hand in my class when they wish to speak, Mr. Potter." She turned her back and walked to the very front of the class. Turning around, that smile was plastered on her face again. "It is the view of the Ministry that a theoretical knowledge will be more than sufficient to get you through your examinations, which, after all, is what school is all about!"

Harry was not finished yet. "But how's theory supposed to prepare us for what's out there?" Airmed simply tucked her head down, hoping to go unnoticed, but Harry would not let it go. "I mean, evil's out there. Look at Airmed! She's obviously been fighting something!" People around Airmed turned and stared between her and Potter for a moment. She tried her best to ignore them. She had not wished to draw attention to herself during this class, what with a representative from the Ministry here ready to report her movements and dealings back to that dunderhead Fudge. However, it was too late for that.

"Ms. Wolfshead is not from the British Isles. Whatever is happening where she comes from is no concern of yours, because it should not affect you. Besides, there's nothing out there, dear! Who do you think would want to attack schoolchildren like yourselves?" Her bright tone began to sound forced, but Umbridge kept the act going.

Harry paused for a moment. "Hum… I don't know. Maybe… _Lord Voldemort?_"

The class was completely silent as everyone tried to look inconspicuously away from Harry. Umbridge's face finally fell, and Airmed could do nothing but watch as she unfurled herself from the uptight-and-bright personality. "Now… let me make this quite plain. You have been told that a certain Dark wizard is at large once again." She began to walk down the aisle. "This is a lie." She smiled at Harry as he erupted in class.

"It's not a lie! I saw him! I fought him!" Harry tried to appeal to the rest of his class for support, but no one moved to help him.

Umbridge stalked back up to the front of the class, while saying with a bite in her voice, "Detention, Mr. Potter!"

Harry was not finished yet. "So, you're saying that Cedric Diggory dropped dead of his own accord?" Airmed remembered that name when Conn was instructing her on what to expect from Hogwarts. Diggory was the Triwizard Champion that died earlier in the year, a result of a killing curse.

"Cedric Diggory's death was a tragic accident." Although she despised the woman, Airmed had to give Umbridge some credit. She was definitely holding her ground in this argument, making Harry look like a rebellious little child.

"It was murder! Voldemort killed him! You must know this!" Harry was yelling now, his voice echoing in the class. Airmed knew that he was telling the truth, but he was only getting himself into trouble.

Umbridge finally had it. "ENOUGH!" Her shrill voice echoed in the class. She tried to rein in her composure. "Enough. See me after your classes, Mr. Potter. My office." She twittered once again, that gods-awful smile back in place. "Now, read chapters one and two this class. There is no need to talk." That was the end of that argument, and everyone got down to reading the simplified material. As she calmed down in front of the class, Umbridge finally turned her complete attention to Airmed as she quietly sat and read. She could feel the toad walking towards her and stop beside her desk.

"_Hem-hem._" Airmed looked up at her from the dreadfully boring reading. "I just have one little question for you, my dear. What is your background knowledge on this subject?" Umbridge's voice grated through her teeth as she talked.

Airmed sighed, rubbing her hands together to keep them warm. "Ma'am, I have sworn an oath of secrecy to my king and queen about revealing the standards of my education at the Academy to those not of Manx descent. I cannot tell you."

That riled Umbridge a little, but it did not completely deter her from continuing her line of questioning. "Then, who are your teachers? Perhaps they are familiar to me?" As she spoke with that spun sugar voice that grated on Airmed's already tender nerves, Airmed repeated her answer. "What, then, is your purpose for attending Hogwarts?"

That one, Airmed could answer. "My purpose for being here, as agreed upon by my headmaster and my sovereigns, is to attend Hogwarts for as long as they deems it necessary. When they no longer deem it prudent, then they will summon me to return home. In addition to this, I am to represent the Isle of Man to the British Ministry of Magic, to possibly begin talks of renewed alliances."

"In that case, Ms. Wolfshead, you must be aware that female students are to wear skirts in this school. I insist that you go and change immediately."

Airmed just looked at her, her face blank. She was trying her best to let these useless words wash over her. "Madam Umbridge, I must point out that, as this is the fourth class that I have attended today, you are the first professor to have taken offence at my dress. Furthermore, my headmaster discussed this issue with Professor Dumbledore, who has allowed me this small favor. No one on Mann wears dresses or skirts except during religious observations: it is highly impractical, and an unnecessary luxury. If there is an issue concerning that, then please discuss it with Professor Dumbledore." Her voice was quiet and respectful at all times as she addressed her teacher.

"I don't like your cheek, girl." Airmed raised her eyebrows in surprise at the venom dripping from Umbridge's mouth. The rest of the class looked at them as they saw, once again, the beginnings of a row between teacher and student. She mentally added 'xenophobic' to the list of adjectives that she was using to describe Umbridge, alongside 'psychotic', 'fanatical' and 'generally off her rocker'.

"Ma'am?" Airmed was still confused. She was careful to show no such cheek. She was taught far better manners than that.

"You do not belong here in this noble school. You are not worthy to learn, let alone for me to teach, you stupid little girl." The sneer marring Umbridge's face was enough to make Airmed wish to punch her until she was cold on the floor.

"Madam, I must ask that if you continue to speak to me thusly, then you address me by my full name and titles." Airmed kept her anger in, but it was threatening her boundaries.

"Oh? And what is that?" Umbridge wished to challenge her? Well, since the time for pleasantries was past, it was time to fight back.

Airmed rose from her seat and stood at ease from her seat. Everyone, Harry included, was staring at her with baited breath. "I am Sir Airmed Brigid Wolfshead, Knight of Mann, captain of the Royal Army of the Isle of Man, priestess of the Order of the Dragon, loyal servant of King Nuada Eaglewing and Queen Ethne Druidson, and ambassador to the British Ministry of Magic for the sovereignty of the Isle of Man." The entire class was silent in shock. At fifteen, she was an ambassador?

Neville, in particular, blanched. She was the royal ambassador? Mann had not sent an ambassador to magical Britain since they were closed out over two hundred years ago! However, he should not have been surprised about that. Her mannerisms were polite and crisp, always unfaltering in their confidence. Her voice, though heavily accented, rose and fell with the cadences of someone well educated. Being from Mann, she most likely was educated in laws and the arts of diplomacy. She was a perfect candidate to bring their countries together again in trade.

Umbridge, however, was unfazed. "Well, _Ms. _Wolfshead, I expect to see you in detention with Mr. Potter tonight."

"As punishment for what?" Airmed was the end of her tether now.

"For being disrespectful to your betters, for wearing the wrong uniform to my class, for telling lies…" The smirk on Umbridge's face grew, "…and for carrying a dangerous weapon among impressionable students." With a grab like a frog's tongue, she made to grab at the knife.

That was it! Airmed's face grew vivid with the force of her fury. Before Umbridge could wrap her hand around it, she placed her hand on the pommel of the knife and held it tight. She almost drew it out to point it at Umbridge, but that would get her nowhere. "You will not touch me or my possessions again, madam!"

"Then hand it over!" Looking so smug, Umbridge was the epitome of pompous superiority, the very thing that Airmed was trained never to become.

"Never!" Airmed felt the dragon-hide cut into her palm as she gripped the handle of her blade.

"Then it will be a week's worth of detentions!" What happened next shocked everyone. Airmed disappeared before their very eyes. All of her belongings were gone. There was not a trace of her to be found in the class at all.

Hermione waited for Airmed to arrive in Astronomy, popping her head up once in a while from her rigorous note taking to look at the heads around her. She was not there at dinner, either. Despite their differences, Hermione considered the young Knight to be a friend. She kept her eye on Airmed, even though the new student terrified her so. It was after dinner that she found Airmed in the girl's dorm. She was about to enter the dorm, when she heard Airmed yelling.

"Conn, I don't understand! Why have you sent me here?" Airmed sounded like she was going to cry, but instead she was ranting at nobody. That was when Hermione saw the snake from the night before wrapped around her hand. "This whole place is backwards! They treasure stagnation and lies over progress and truths. There are no sciences taught, no arts! They still use wands, for Mordred's sake!" There was a pause where Hermione heard the snake speak back in what she assumed was Manx. Airmed visibly deflated at whatever the snake was saying. "Master, they didn't comprehend that I'm the ambassador. She just laughed at me! Master, there is no way to accomplish this! They don't train at all! I trained by myself this morning. They still believe that Voldemort is dead and that Potter is a liar! They have no defenses in place for any attack! How can I learn from them if they hold to such ethnocentric perceptions? I saw the looks that they gave me when they saw my armor! They know nothing about our war! Why should they, after they locked us away like animals?" The voice from the snake's mouth was sharp, if it was giving her an order. "I understand, Master. I apologize for my harsh tongue. There is something else, though… there is one here, a girl, who is most curious about us. What do you suggest?" The snake's voice was quiet. "My thanks, Master. Donnchadh and I will plan something to show them about Manx values on Friday. Please tell Niamh and Marcus that I love them?" The snake nuzzled against her mail-covered hand before slinking away out of sight.

Hermione peeked through the gap in the door, trying to be discrete. However, it was not enough. Airmed opened the door so violently that she cracked both the stone and the oak threshold and looked down on the prefect with fire in her eyes. "Prefect Granger, even I know that it's rude to eavesdrop. If you ever do it again, then you will regret it." She strode past the stuttering girl and walked down to her detention with Umbridge.

Harry was not there yet, but Umbridge was. She sat at the front desk, waiting patiently. "Ah, Ms. Wolfshead! Please sit down!" How that woman maintained that simpering and perky voice was beyond Airmed's ken. "Now, you're going to do some lines for me tonight. But first, I need you to take those off." She pointed to the vambraces. "They are not part of the school uniform, and it is not necessary for children to protect adults."

With a sigh, Airmed took her vambraces off, feeling naked without them. Reaching down to her bag for some paper, she heard Harry enter and sit next to her. As she pulled out a quill, Umbridge stopped them. She looked over and saw Harry doing the same thing. "You two are going to use special quills of mine." From her desk, she pulled out two long black quills with wicked-sharp steel nibs.

Airmed's eyes widened at the sight of the Blood Quills. She knew that they were illegal, but Conn had ordered her to attend this detention. Earlier, he revealed that she was there to talk to Harry Potter about stopping the wars in both of their lands. If she had to attend detentions and use a Blood Quill to do that, then so be it.

Umbridge looked down at the two of them. "Now, Mr. Potter, you will write out, 'I must not tell lies.' Ms. Wolfshead, you will write out, 'I must not tell lies, I will dress properly for class, and I will respect my betters'.

"How many times?" Harry asked her.

"Oh, as long as it takes to sink in." Umbridge sat behind the front desk and watched them.

Both of them wrote and wrote into the night. They wrote their lines for two hours non-stop, their hands bleeding and wounded. Airmed showed no reaction: she was trained to resist pain. She was grateful that the scars came on her left hand, not marring the dragon tattoo on her right wrist. Harry winced and groaned as the quill carved the line into his hand over and over.

When the two hours had finished, Umbridge stopped them. She leaned closer, inspecting their hands. "Well, it seems that the message hasn't quite sunk in yet. It is good, then, that you both have detention with me for the rest of the week. Go on, now!"

They walked in silence back to Gryffindor Tower, their hands bleeding on the floor. Airmed turned to Harry, a grimace on her face, as they reached the Fat Lady. "Wait, Harry." She produced some extra bandages from her bag. "Wrap your hand up tight, and wash it before going to bed under hot water. That should ward off infection, and stop some of the pain."

"Thanks." They were silent for a while.

"Harry, I need to talk to you, about this… neither of us should have said what we said in Defense." Airmed leaned against the wall and let the pain leave the forefront of her mind.

"But it was the truth!" Harry was indignant when he heard her say that. Was she no better than the others?

"But how many people believed us? Sometimes, not admitting anything is better than telling the truth. It isn't lying, but it's better than us getting hurt for it. It matters only that we know it is true. That way, it can never be judged by others to be incorrectly false." She clutched her hand, catching a look at the claddagh on her finger.

Once again, there was silence, until… "Are you really a Knight?" Harry sounded just like one of her inquisitive nieces and nephews.

Airmed just chuckled. "Yes, Harry. I was christened a Knight of the Isle of Man when I was thirteen. I was knighted by King Nuada's own hand, before being promoted to a captain in his army." She turned to him, her hand wrapped up but still bleeding. "I will not say how, but perhaps when the time is right, when you have earned my trust, I will share my story with you."

Astronomy that night was quiet. Hermione kept looking in her direction and trying to non-verbally ask what was going on, but Airmed effectively ignored her as she drew out a star-map, one of many for the final exam that she was not going to write. Still, they were useful for her collection. All knowledge was worth knowing, and she would forever be a student to its pursuit.


	7. I Have Begun to Plant Thee

The next morning, Airmed did it all over again: got up before the crack of dawn, exercised for an hour (this time, she deigned not to use her vest in an attempt to take it easier on her injured body), washed off, and got ready for breakfast. She talked with the other girls, but she was working through the events of yesterday, trying to keep her composure in place without breaking down. She would not, could not, do that here: not in front of these strangers.

The one difference was that she brought Gwydion out to deliver a message to Aunt Morgana. They needed to talk about Umbridge's choice of punishment. This was recklessly injuring her, and for what? Wearing the wrong uniform? Professor Dumbledore had given her both a verbal and a written dispensation to wear pants, witnessed by her own headmaster. And why should that bother Umbridge? Did it distract from her learning? Or did she simply wish to be that controlling of her students?

She saw to it that Gwydion was curled up on top of Aunt Morgana's plate when she came into the Hall for breakfast. The members of the staff were scared off when they saw him hissing contentedly. Umbridge nearly drew her wand out to destroy him. Aunt Morgana, however, saw it and let the snake wrap around her hand before bringing it to her ear. Professor McGonagall looked around the crowd and nodded when she spotted Airmed sitting near the head of Gryffindor's table.

As one, they stood from their seats and headed up to McGonagall's office. With the door open, they looked like student and teacher, not as family. Professor McGonagall returned Gwydion to Airmed, who proceeded to gently curl around his mistress's arm until he wrapped around her neck. "I received your rather unorthodox message, Sir Wolfshead. Professor Babbling told me that he approves of you dropping Ancient Runes. How, may I ask, did that come about?"

"Professor, I attended the first class of Ancient Runes and listened to the lecture given in class. However, this is material that I have covered since childhood. I would only be a distraction to those who wish to learn. I ask that I be allowed to drop Ancient Runes in favor of a spare period in order to complete homework assignments and to further my self-studies." Airmed stood at ease in her uniform, clasping her hands behind her back.

"If that is what you would like to do, then I can arrange it." McGonagall folded her hands on top of her desk, staring at Airmed over the rims of her glasses. "Now, you mentioned something else in your message? A detention with Professor Umbridge?" Both of them noticed the dislike in the last word of that sentence.

"Yes." Airmed sighed softly. "I have detention with Professor Umbridge all week in the evenings. I don't ask that you talk to her about that, but merely about her choice of… punishment."

"And what punishment is that?" Airmed undid the buckles of her left vambrace and took it off. Placing it to the side, she unwrapped the bandages and placed her wounded hand on the desk for inspection. Minerva's face grew pale as she lifted her niece's hand to have a closer look at the marks. "Please tell me that these are not what I think they are."

"If you are thinking that these are the product of a Blood Quill, then I tell you that it is true." Airmed looked at her aunt with a hollow gaze. "She thought that I was trying to be a show-off when I told her my titles. She thought that I was lying." With a shaky breath, she tried to laugh unsuccessfully while sliding her vambraces back on. "Please inform Professor Dumbledore about this. Harry Potter and I will complete the rest of our detentions this week, and she will most likely use that on us again." She looked at the faded words on the back of her hand. "She accused me of never making my oath, Aunt." That was when she broke.

Minerva closed the doors and took her trembling niece in her arms, her own heart breaking at the same time. She felt the tears hit her shoulder as her last living niece held on for dear life as she burst into salty sobs. To any Knight of Mann that held true to their oath, being accused of breaking that oath was akin to assassinating one of their sovereigns. It was one of the worst crimes possible to commit: to do so, the offender would be labeled 'warlock' and 'traitor' and executed after being tortured, if indeed they were caught.

To those Knights that had made their oaths and had been sworn into the brotherhood of Knights by their king, to be accused of never making that oath was like telling them that their life's work was done for nothing, and that all that they had done in the past was worthless to a race that prided itself on getting things done. It was akin to psychological murder, particularly to the prideful nature of Manxmen. Airmed had come from a hard world, and she was still so young. She was far too young for such sorrows.

Airmed cried for a few minutes but it felt like hours, as the hard-built dam to her emotions broke free and spilled out for her aunt to witness. She did not belong here. She wanted to go home, where everything made sense. But she had her orders: she had to talk to Harry Potter, to help him find out about the truth.

By now, breakfast was over and they both could hear students in the halls coming to class. Minerva did a quick Drying Charm on them both, erasing all signs of Airmed's tears. The only sign that anything had been wrong was Airmed's red eye, but there was not much to be done about that. She simply sat in a desk near the front and watched as the students came in and sit around her.

"Welcome to Fifth-Year Transfiguration. Now, I expect all those taking the OWL in June to achieve at least 'Acceptable'. However, I only take those with 'Exceeds Expectations' or higher into my NEWT class. Today, we will review Animagus regulations before having a demonstration of Human Transfiguration by one of your classmates."

It was an easier class, and Airmed thanked the gods that Aunt Morgana was teaching this class. It had been a long time since her mother had comforted her. Her foster father was always busy with the war, and he was more of a friend to her now that she was grown. Her other teachers were good substitutes for parental figures, but they rarely hugged her. Niamh and Marcus were always there for her, but right now they was hundreds of miles away. She had only her aunt and Professor Snape as allies so far here in Hogwarts.

As Airmed took detailed notes during the lecture, she felt eyes staring at her back. She dug deep into her training, bringing the shield up around her mind to protect. A complex skill for some, this was like a second skin for Airmed. Whenever she felt uncomfortable in situations, she always brought the shield up around her mind and thoughts.

"Sir Wolfshead." Airmed snapped her head up as she looked at her aunt. "Would you like to demonstrate the ability that you displayed on the night of the Opening Feast?"

Airmed bit her lip before smiling and nodding. Nothing made her feel better than transforming into her different forms. This would help to make her sadness begin to fade. Standing up and tucking in the chair to her desk, she walked in front of the class.

"First, can you explain how you transform like you do?" Aunt Morgana sat behind her desk, a small smile on her face just for her niece.

Airmed looked at all of the faces in front of her, trying her best to explain this. "Well, when I was three, I saw my first wolf. It was just a woodcutting in my family's coat of arms, but I fell in love with it. I wanted to be one so badly, and then something happened: a bright light surrounded me, and my vision began to change. My mother came looking for me when I stopped making noise. When she found me, she got the surprise of her life when she saw a wolf pup where she had left me. She picked me up by the scruff on my neck, looking me in the eyes. I wanted so badly to tell her that I was sorry for causing trouble, when another bright light surrounded me and I was human again. That was when I began my training at the Academy.

"My training masters taught me how to control my magic in order to change into various forms. Before I could even attempt the change again, I had to learn anatomy of every creature, both normal and magical, inside and out. Now, I can change at will into any creature." As she spoke, she saw that everyone believed her, a far cry from yesterday's embarrassed silence in DADA. "Before I demonstrate, are there any questions?"

Padma Patil from the Ravenclaws raised her hand. "Are you able to transform only parts of your body, say, a hand or a leg? Or do you have to transform your whole body every time?"

"Good question." Airmed nodded to her. "I couldn't do that, not at first. After I completed my basic anatomical studies when I was five, I then had to learn control over my power, in order to manipulate it according to my will."

A different boy raised his hand. "Seamus Finnegan. When you transform, do you keep your human mind, or do you turn into that animal completely?"

"Another good question, Seamus. Yes, I do keep my human intelligence in my animal forms." She looked over the classroom and pointed to a Hufflepuff near the back. "You, there. What's your name?"

"Ernie. Ernie MacMillian." He stuck his chin out, making him appear pompous and important as he stood from his chair unbidden.

"Well, Ernie, Ernie MacMillian," at that, the class snickered a bit, "I will give you a first go." He stared at her with confusion. "Tell me what you want me to transform into, be it whole body or part."

His answer came right quick. "A badger. Whole body."

She nodded her head before closing her eye and transforming. In a blink of an eye (a wink of her eye?), a full-size badger was on the ground in front of them. What surprised them all was that she walked among them only to stop in front of Ernie. With some degree of difficulty, the Airmed-badger stood on her hindquarters and pushed him back in his seat with only one shove.

As Ernie huffed on impact with his chair, Airmed transformed again and returned to the front of the class. With a wave of her hand, all the desks (and the students sitting in them) levitated a few inches up from the ground and moved against the walls before gently dropping back to the ground. "I don't want to hurt any of you, but I do need a little more space." She looked around expectantly. "Well, any more volunteers?"

Everyone's hands shot up in the air, begging her to choose them first. "'Ermione."

"Actually, I just have a question. What do you mean, you started your schooling at three years of age?" Her face looked incredulous, like it was inconceivable for someone to start learning so early.

"That has nothing to do with the demonstration at hand, Ms. Granger." Professor McGonagall spoke from her desk. "Sir Wolfshead has sworn an oath of secrecy, akin to an Unbreakable Vow, in regards to many aspects of her training at the Aurorian Academy. Professor Dumbledore failed to mention this at the Opening Feast, but as Deputy Headmistress, I am telling you all now: do not ask questions about the Academy or Sir Wolfshead's teachers, or it will be an automatic five point deduction from your house."

Airmed turned around the class and pointed to another person. "Daphne Greengrass. Can you transform your hands into bear paws?"

With a smile, the demonstrations were back on track. Bear paws for hands… snakeskin on her arms… a raven… a lion… a griffin… cat's eyes… the dragon from the feast… a tiger… a phoenix… The students were creative in their requests, and it got Airmed to smile after her distress earlier.

When she was finished, she moved the desks back with another wave of her hand and sat down. Standing once more, Professor McGonagall looked at them all. "For homework, I want you to read the chapter on Vanishing Spells for Thursday. Off you go, now."

As everyone was leaving, Airmed walked to the desk in front and looked to her aunt. "Professor McGonagall, I had a chance to explore the library floor yesterday before Defense, and I noticed a large blocked-out section. The librarian insisted that I had to have a note from a professor in order to access it. Is it possible for you to write me such a note?"

Professor McGonagall looked to her niece with a tilted head and a curious gaze. "Why, Sir Wolfshead, would you need to access the Forbidden Section?"

"For resources in my self-study, ma'am. I pride myself on being thorough, and I do not wish to stop simply because I am not on Mann." It was a quick flick of a quill and a few drops of ink flying around, but Aunt Morgana signed the note and passed it to the young Knight. "Ms. Wolfshead, you know that my office doors are always open to students in need of an ear to listen. Please, don't ever be hesitant to talk to me." Airmed looked at her aunt and mouthed, "Thank you," as she headed off to Charms, tucking the note away in her smaller notebook.

Charms was… well, it was fun. Professor Flitwick was animated and bright as he taught the basics of Silencing Charms to the Gryffindors and Ravenclaws. Airmed dutifully took notes, but when it came to the incantation and wand movements, she sat quietly at her desk.

"Sir Wolfshead, can you demonstrate the spell for us?" He may have only reached the middle of her chest as she sat, but Professor Flitwick was a former duelist and still had that essence of steel in him. "Where is your wand, my dear?"

"Professor, I don't have one." By now, the whole of the class was, once again, looking at her strangely. "We don't use wands on Mann." She looked at the toad on her desk that she was supposed to be Silencing, and with a single flick of her finger, her toad was rendered mute. A question formed on Professor Flitwick's face. "We are trained to focus our magic by strength of will alone. What we will to happen, we can shape our magic to those desires."

Professor Flitwick looked around the class. "Has anyone else seen a demonstration of this?"

Hermione's hand shot in the air. "Sir, in Transfiguration today, she moved forty desks with a wave of her hand. And at the Opening Feast, she changed her tunic before all of us."

As he pondered and stroked his beard, Flitwick peered at her. She looked at his hand as he thought: just like Professor Snape, Flitwick bore a gold band set with a malachite cabochon. He saw that she saw, and discretely nodded his head. "Well, my dear, in that case, do the spells here in class as you have been instructed to by your… teachers." He seemed to pause at the word 'teachers', as if it was not his first description of choice.

He addressed the rest of the class. "I want you all to give me two feet of parchment on the theory behind the Silencing Charm, and how it can be used practically in a magical duel. Off you go!" Airmed quietly packed her bags and headed to the stairs. The Charms class, being on the eighth level of the castle, was a far enough distance for her to fly down.

She took her time with lunch, having had eaten little at breakfast. Down the table, Seamus Finnegan was trying to turn his water into rum, while Dean Thomas and Neville Longbottom compared what looked like Divination dream journals.

"Lookie here, Gred… A Knight with no armor." A voice rang out behind her. She turned and saw two redhead twins standing behind her, identical down to the last freckle.

"Be careful, Forge. Didn't Ginny ever teach you how not to judge a book by its cover?" Simultaneously, they shivered.

Airmed could not help but to laugh. "Let me guess… Somehow, are you related to Ronald Weasley?"

"Him, that redhead fool? Unfortunately so. But still, one must wonder how that came about. He's nothing like us." They spoke one sentence at a time, trading off speaking between the two of them. Between the two of them and those silly grins plastered on their faces, she could not help but to laugh again. "However, we didn't come to talk about us. What about you?" They sat down on the bench, one of either side of her.

Her smile noticeably dimmed. "I have travelled the trail of tears and blood, of sorrow and loss. I have killed many people, but lost more. This week is the first that I have laughed in the longest time." She looked at them, perplexed. "And no, I am no dark wizard sent to corrupt you in your sleep."

"Oh, good!" One of them handed her a goblet of pumpkin juice. "But that's not what we meant…" They looked at each other. "Tell us about the Isle of Man."

By now, she knew full well that others were listening in on the conversation. These Hogwarts folk were not very discrete, at least among the Gryffindors. She sipped from the offered goblet and began to tell. "The Isle is a beautiful place. Where the hills are green, heather and cushag grow in abundance, colouring the landscape green, purple, and gold." She closed her eye, allowing her voice to grow soft and whimsical. "Where the ocean meets the rocky cliff-sides, gulls and water birds make their nests in the sharp rocks. The ocean pounds on the shoreline all the time, the undertow strong enough to pull the strongest men down to the depths. There is one area that beaches out, and that is where we hold our funerals." She opened her eye and saw that all of the Gryffindors were listening intently to her. "Most mornings, the mist climbs over the cliffs and covers the ground, even coming up to the castle walls. The hills are covered, masking them from sight." She looked down at the vambraces tied to her forearms for a moment. "Falcons and wolves live in the forest, with ferrets, voles, wild birds, deer, bears… whole numbers of animals and birds live around the island. Apple tree grow everywhere, and the ground is so rich and fertile that anything grows. Such a beautiful place…"

She slammed the goblet down, startling all around her out of their reveries. "But I'm here right now, and it does no good to dwell on the past for more than is necessary." With that, she stood up. Before she transformed, she felt a tug on her sleeve. Airmed looked down to see Euan standing behind her. "What is it, little one?"

He was blushing so badly, but he spoke quietly and purposefully as she knelt before him. "Sir, can you teach me how to do that? Turn into animals?"

Airmed's heart nearly broke at the sight of him asking. "I'm sorry, Euan. Only people born of the Isle can do that. But," she lifted his chin up to look him in the eye, "you can always become an Animagus when you're older. Ask Professor McGonagall about it in your next Transfiguration class." She smiled at him. "And you can always ask me for a ride."

"I have Charms next. Could I get a ride, just once?" Airmed smiled and transformed into the large grey wolf from the feast. Lying on the ground, she waited for Euan to sit behind her forequarters before coming onto her paws. He was light for an eleven year old, and his hands held on tight to the fur on her neck. With a happy bark, the Airmed-wolf took off at a run, little Euan holding on for dear life.

Professor Flitwick yelped in shock when they stopped in front of his door. Euan jumped off just as Airmed transformed into human shape. She looked up at the diminutive professor and winked before ruffling Euan's hair. "Now be good for the professor, yah?" She walked across the room to the window. Transforming into the peregrine falcon, she cried out as she launched herself from the windowsill into the air.

The wind was picking up ever so slightly, but at least it was flowing in the directions of the greenhouses, the location of her next class. She just soared in the air as she barrel-rolled and twisted to land in front of the fourth of the small buildings. Looking around, she was the only student here yet. Airmed shook her head: what was with this school and the lack of discipline? Knocking on the door, she heard someone speak, "Come in, come in!"

Humid air hit her face as soon as she entered the greenhouse. Her heart warmed at the sight of the heather plants in the corner of the room, thriving somehow in this heat. She could pick out a rounder woman in dirty brown robes, her arms elbow-deep in dirt. Her wiry grey hair was frizzy underneath her pointed hat.

"Who's there?" The woman still had her back turned to Airmed as she wandered amidst the plants.

"A fifth year, Airmed Wolfshead." She saw a group of quivering Mandrake plants on the table in front of her. "Your Mandrakes need re-planting, correct?"

"Yes. One of many things to be done, I'm afraid." Airmed smiled. Her mother, she remembered, loved to grow things. She had passed on whatever knowledge she had to her youngest daughter.

Working carefully, Airmed slipped on a pair of dragon-hide gloves after stripping off her cloak and rolling up her sleeves. She found a bin of earmuffs and passed one to the dumpy-looking Professor. "Please wear this." She laid out a row of bigger pots and bags of soil before putting her own earmuffs in place.

She worked quickly now. Grabbing a potted Mandrake, she grasped it firmly just above the root and yanked it out. She could not hear it wailing, but she definitely saw it fighting her as she moved the plant into the bigger pot and loosely packed fresh soil around it. She did that for all of the Mandrakes before sprinkling them with water.

Airmed felt a tap on her shoulder. As she turned, she saw the woman standing behind her. With a shake of her head, she dislodged her earmuffs. "How did you do that?" The woman pointed to the fifteen potted plants, now content in their bigger pots.

"I learned back home." She took off one of her gloves just as students began to file in. "You must be Professor Sprout, yes?"

"Yes, Sir Wolfshead. I know." Airmed cocked an eyebrow: three people now had used her title. "Professor Dumbledore told us about you before you came here. I am fascinated with the fertility of the soil on the Isle; I've only heard legends about the quality of your apple trees."

"Blame it on an abundance of dragon manure, low soil acidity, and plenty of water and sun." They shook hands as the students pooled in around the table.

"Very good. Twenty points to Gryffindor, for exceptional potting skills." Professor Sprout turned and addressed the rest of the class. "Now this year, we will be focusing on more Potions-oriented ingredients. You will be graded on how well you are able to harvest the ingredients, as well as your knowledge."

This class, yet again, was child's play for Airmed. She was able to identify all of the plants in front of her: deadly nightshade, oleander, thorn apple, mountain laurel, and jimsonweed. They had to re-plant and water them, a repeat of her earlier actions with the Mandrakes. From mature plants, they harvested the parts necessary for potion ingredients. All the while, Sprout watched them and critiqued their methods.

Why did people assume that this work schedule was a hard load? Airmed contemplated that as she flew back to the castle. This was child's play for her, even with her schedule being fuller than the other students. She still had another two hours of self-study to complete, but it was doable. Back home, there were so many additional lessons, not including honing skills, early morning practices, drills and patrols… The work was never ending. What did they have here: homework and sports, with the occasional weekend outing? This was a joke!

This last class, separated into two time-slots, was Airmed's favorite subject to pursue. Natural philosophy was a practice first begun by the ancient Greeks. It was meant for observation and analysis of nature. The Greeks took this a step further and interpreted some of these data into how it could affect human life and behavior. Now, it was branched out into what was referred as the sciences: biology, zoology, botany… chemistry, physics, genetics… astronomy, navigation… medicine, anatomy… philosophy, ethics, morals… mathematics, algebra, trigonometry… music, literature, art, dying of cloths, metallurgy. Everything in this world could be explained through a process of natural philosophy. This week, she was given a relatively simple task: read up on the study of plant breeding and she had to find out how to successfully and hypothetically crossbreed thorn apple and hellebore.

She found that the members of the British magical world tended to segregate themselves from the 'Muggle' world. This was not true on Mann. Their libraries were homes of much of the 'lost' knowledge of the ancient world, and it was constantly being filled with more knowledge and theories through the years as it came out. The Manx Royal Library had the biggest collection of original Greek and Islamic texts dating by to before the fall of the Roman Empire. Some called it magic: in that, she was one of them. It allowed them to keep updated in their information, not like some of these school textbooks from out of the Victorian age. They were up to date with non-magical scientific theory, even going so far as to apply it in their own schools of thought. All knowledge is sacred, especially the ones that people do not understand right away.

After her natural philosophy self-study, she skipped dinner in favor of her Potions, Arithmancy, Charms, Herbology, and Astronomy homework. She was not hungry, and she knew that she would be spending her evening self-study session with Umbridge and her sadistic detention.

At least, Friday would be a light at the end of this dismal week…


	8. The Disciplines in the War

**AN: Some different languages are present in this chapter. Manx words are italicized, and Gaelic words are bolded.**

**At the end of the chapter, there is a song being played. Here is the link to it on YouTube: /watch?v=LXNSQ9DXrRc&feature=related. Enjoy! **

*HPatKoM*

Harry found himself intrigued by the transfer student, Airmed Wolfshead. She was not like any of the girls at Hogwarts. From what he had seen of her, she was laconic most of the time, and yet verbose when the occasion called for it; the other girls in her year preferred to chatter and twitter around constantly. As a result, when she spoke up, most people tended to listen to whatever she was saying and take it seriously. She was not one for idle chatter or coffee-housing on the gossip de jour.

Studious and hard working, she seemed far more advanced in her studying than what they were teaching this year. Whenever she was called upon in class, she answered the inquiry quickly and quietly, without showing off or boasting in any way. On the other hand, it was like she was bored constantly. She worked hard in class, but she sometimes had on this expression on her face that read that what they were learning was not new material for her in the least. Yet she would spend hours in the library doing homework of one kind or another.

Beyond schoolwork, she did not talk about herself or her home very much. If you asked her about her personal life, she would shut you out faster than a Golden Snitch could move. Harry reminded himself that Airmed had made that vow before coming here not to talk about the Academy, but she would still describe her home for those that asked about it. From what she had told them (and the little at that), the Isle of Man sounded like paradise.

There was one common theme in her behavior: discipline. Everything she did, from eating in the Great Hall, to doing her homework assignments, to practicing the spells in class, was done in a way that suggested that she was drilled to act in certain ways. Teachers received the utmost attention from her, even Umbridge after that first day. Every movement was done with the least amount of energy, but with the greatest efficiency. Yes, sir: Airmed Wolfshead was a mystery inside of an enigma wrapped in a riddle.

So imagine his surprise when, after all of the detentions where she wrote out 'I will dress properly for class' into the surface of her hand, she walked into the Great Hall early Friday morning dressed in the chain-mail armor from the week before. The mail clattered against her quilted breeches, and she was just doing up the ties at her wrist when she looked up. Harry saw her sword strapped to her side and her staff-weapon strapped to her back, and wondered what was going on.

_"Hem-hem."_ Everyone could hear Umbridge from a mile away as she walked towards the Knight. Airmed's eye-roll was obvious to all around her as Umbridge stopped behind her shoulder and talked to the Knight's back. "Fifty points from Gryffindor for continued disregard for the rules, Ms. Wolfshead." She shook her head sanctimoniously, clicking her tongue as Airmed turned and looked at her with a resigned expression. "And…"

"Stop taking these ridiculous house points from my protégé, Madam Umbridge." A deep male voice boomed out from the direction of the oak doors. Airmed's head snapped towards the direction of the newcomer, whipping her hair in Umbridge's face. "I asked her to come dressed like this."

Harry beheld the strangest sight yet in his magical education. A titan of a man, his skin black as night, was walking calmly between the tables where Umbridge and Airmed stood. A shaved head and deep brown eyes made him look intimidating, but it was the scars on his head and hands that made him look truly frightening. He was dressed in a similar manner as Airmed: chain-mail, quilted breeches and jacket, heavy boots, belt, and black tunic. The tunic was decorated with a crimson fisted hand, the fingers thick and meaty. Across his back was a well-used broadsword and war hammer. His arms were thick, almost as thick as half of Harry's torso. When he came to stop in front of the two women, he was almost one and a half times as tall as Airmed (who was already taller than Harry), and probably two times her size in pure sinew and muscle.

What happened next shocked everyone in the hall. With no hesitation, Airmed fell down to one knee before the giant. Bowing her head, what she spoke next was heard throughout the silent hall: "Master". The giant brought his hand before her face; Harry could see a ring on his index finger. Airmed took the offered hand and kissed the ring.

"Rise, Sir Wolfshead." The dark giant looked at Umbridge with thinly veiled dislike. "Leave now, Madam Umbridge. It is time for Airmed's lessons. Airmed, get on your feet." With a practiced ease, Airmed got to her feet and followed the man that she called 'Master'. As soon as they left, the hall burst out into talk.

Neither Airmed nor her 'master' talked as she led him to an empty classroom near the Great Hall. Once the door was closed behind them and the desks were moved away, they smiled and embraced each other, grabbing their forearms and bringing them to their chests as they chuckled in each other's arms.

_"Ah, Donnchadh! It's been too long!"_ Airmed looked at him as they separated and began to draw their weapons. The Manx words flowed from her tongue with a reminiscent manner, like a breath of fresh air after a rainstorm. She looked over to the man in front of her and smiled.

Donnchadh Strongarm was the training master of battle magic and weapons mastery at the Academy. He was the most senior of battle mages still living, and was one of the few that had seniority and rank over her and her brother in the Royal Army. He was tough as nails on all of his students, working them to the bone and beyond to force them to become the best Knights that they could possibly become. With him, there was no middle ground: you either passed, or you failed. Failure in his class meant that you could not be a Knight, but it did not disqualify you from your mandatory service to the crown.

When her father and mother passed away, Donnchadh became her foster father, akin to an uncle to her. He watched out for her when her family could not. It was he that saved her on that horrible night all those years ago. Airmed owed him a debt that could never be repaid save by one thing: killing the person that had caused them both such pain.

_"The same, Wolfshead. Now, will you explain why I had you kneel in front of me back there?"_ He took his broadsword and war hammer and began to swing them experimentally. _"I tried my best to hide my curiosity, but you have to tell me." _

_"This school doesn't understand the concepts of Manx Knighthood, old friend: loyalty, honor, obedience, and discipline. If I don't show them by example, how else can the Potter boy find himself curious enough to be able to talk to me, outside of those stupid detentions?"_ She showed him her ungloved left hand. _"That pathetic bitch is sadistic. She had me carve this into my hand with a Blood Quill." _

_"Conn told me about it. Dumbledore did nothing?"_ Donnchadh looked livid as she shook her head.

_"He probably doesn't know. I told Aunt Morgana, though."_ Airmed unsheathed her own longsword and glaive and warmed up a bit. _"What shall we practice first?" _

_"Hand to hand. You still can't best me in three out of three matches, and you know it."_ Donnchadh shook his head good-naturedly, his earlier lividness disappearing like the ebb and flow of the tide. _"Once you can beat me in two out of three matches, then we'll move on to the live weaponry. Fair?" _

_"Fair."_ Airmed placed her weapons aside and went through a series of stretches, being cognizant of her own limits in the chainmail. _"Well, let's get to practice. We've only have until the lunch hour before Dumbledore gets worried." _

For the next three hours as students passed by, all that could be heard from the room were the clanking of sword fighting, the thud of mailed flesh against mailed flesh, and the giant shouting at Airmed in two languages other than English. Everyone that passed by wondered along the same lines: what was going on in there? Most of them, however, were afraid to find out for themselves.

Around lunch hour, the door opened. The giant had Airmed's arm draped over his shoulder as they walked up to the infirmary. She was not unconscious, but she was trying not to put a lot of weight on one of her legs. A trail of blood came down from her, but its origin was unknown. Everyone stopped talking as they walked past, mostly from shock or abject horror. The giant seemed to know his way about the school, but he and Airmed were murmuring to each other about something as they walked.

Madam Pomfrey simply pointed to an empty bed and left in a hurry as they came into the unoccupied infirmary. Airmed winced as he helped her out of her tabard, hauberk, gambeson, and under-tunic before letting her lay out on her stomach. Donnchadh glared at her as he began to disinfect her wounds with the alcohol from the potions cupboard.** "You need to practice more, pup. I've never seen you so rusty."** The Gaelic sounded more guttural than Manx, but it was still a flavor of home that was sorely missed since living here in England for this transient time. Donnchadh came back and tapped one of his fingers against her forehead.

**"I've had to downsize my morning training until my arm and ribs are fully healed. Sorcha's potions are slow-working, but they are effective when they've finished running their course."** She let him undo the bandages from her ribs and palpate them, wincing as he found tender spots. **"I was supposed to come in here tomorrow to have Pomfrey look at them, but you can do it. I really need to get back to my training. I can't stand doing only half-workouts." **

Donnchadh ran his hand along her upper arm and looked down at her, some kind of concern in his eyes. **"Well, everything is in place as best as I can determine. Still, come in tomorrow and get the healer to look at it. She does have more training than the both of us."** He saw the bleeding cuts on her wrists and hands and began to tend to them. **"Whom do you train with?" **

**"No one."** He cocked an eyebrow at her, bandage linen in his hands. **"Donnchadh, these people are complacent in their quest for normalcy. They worry about their homework for the classes that I could do in my sleep. The majority of them don't even believe that Voldemort is back and gaining strength! When Potter stood up to say otherwise at the beginning of the week, he was punished with lines like me. That sadistic bitch took pleasure in belittling the both of us and trying to discredit our names. A muzzle is upon them, and their pathetic Order of the Phoenix is trying, but they are blocked by endless political games."** She sighed. **"And they call me backwards." **

**"Well, what do they do for exercise?"** When she shook her head, Donnchadh swore. **"They do nothing?" **

**"Some of them play on broomsticks… a game called Quidditch? But there is no set time for physical activity other than walking to class."** Both of them swore with force.

**"Why did Conn send you here, pup?"** He gave her head a rub as she rolled her shoulders and head.

**"I don't know, my friend."** Both of them were silent as she folded up her hauberk, slipping back into her shirt. **"Do the names Severus Snape and Filius Flitwick mean anything to you?" **

Donnchadh shot a look at her when he heard those names. **"The Snape Line are deemed 'cara Mann' for the last eight generations. The great-many-times-grandmother of Severus Snape was visiting the Isle before the beginning of the schism as a trader. She protected the king at the time from an assassination attempt, risking her own life in the process. As a reward, all of her line was deemed 'friends of Mann'. However, when this country banned the comings and goings of our countrymen, they were condemned to remain here and not on the Isle in order for us to repay our debt to them. **

**"Filius Flitwick was born Faelchu Quicksilver. He was a duelist alongside your Aunt Morgana, but he is one of Sidhe blood. His parents are sworn members of the Seelie Court: his mother and father were hobgoblins both. He was your aunt's mentor, having already done one tour of service already by the time she joined the Armed Forces. Both of them completed fifteen years of service serving at each other's side. After thirty years of service all told, he disappeared and left no children to continue his line."** He cocked his head at her, one of his eyebrows raised. **"Why do you ask?" **

**"They are both my teachers. Snape is instructing all of the years in potion making. Flitwick is the same with charms instruction."** She rubbed the back of her neck, feeling the raised scars under her fingers. **"Is there any news from home?"** The blatant change of topic went by unremarked by Donnchadh.

**"The Seelie and Unseelie Courts renewed their oaths of continued loyalty yesterday, and the Queen reciprocated with our oaths. The King is getting close to breaking the curse over the dragons and wyverns. Then it will become a matter of making a truce with them once more."** Donnchadh ran a large hand over his head. **"The dullahans and the Cwn Annwn are adamantly staying under the geis of the dark ones. _She_ has made a couple of appearances, but they are protecting her well." **

Both of them went quiet for a moment. **"Is there any word of Marcus? Of Niamh?" **

At that, Donnchadh grinned. **"Both of them are well, and looking forward to your return over the Yuletide break. Marcus is part of the royal guard now, stationed with the king in the city; he grumbled at first, for he loves being on the front line. Niamh is working with Conn on cracking the thrall on the dragons, and could not be happier." **

**"So, they are both safe."** She breathed a sigh of relief. **"Thank you."** She hopped off of the bed, being careful not to put too much weight on her newly sprained ankle. **"I will see you next week, and I promise to be better prepared."** Both of them clasped forearms, and then Donnchadh left.

When Airmed walked into the Great Hall, everyone bombarded her with questions, none of them noticing that their respective houses were losing points for it. She answered none of the incessant questions, but instead prepared a plate of food. It took all of the Heads of Houses to get the students under control and off to class. When the Great Hall was empty, she tucked in for some lunch.

It was odd, being in the Great Hall with no one else. Sound echoed far more, even with the gentle clanking of cutlery on plate. She spoke not a word, instead just relishing the silence. It was not often now that she had time solely to herself, to clear her mind of all thoughts. This certainly was a rare treat. But alas, such things never last as long as they should. She made her plate and the remnants of the meal vanish, before heading back up to the common room. No one noticed as she came in and headed up the stairs.

Instead of a hot bath, Airmed indulged in a shower to wash away the sweat. The bandages got wet in the process, but she was going to have to change them anyways. The hot water and gentle soap made her wounds sting, but it was not as bad as the alcohol that she poured on her injuries when the shower was over. Tying her hair into a knot, she headed over to her trunk. It was time to get back to work.

Down in the common room, Harry and Ron were playing at Exploding Snap instead of doing their Divination homework. Hermione was sitting at a table working on the new Arithmancy assignments that Professor Vector had given them over the weekend. Others were quietly sitting and resting. That was how they were able to hear it.

A mournful sound filled the air. It chilled the heart as its hollow and airy sounds floated around them. The tune was one that no one had heard before thusly: it was like a funeral dirge, yet the sound was light on the ears. Hermione followed the sound up the stairs to the fifth year girls' dormitory and saw something bewildering.

Airmed, sitting on the windowsill, had a wooden flute perpendicular to her mouth and was gently playing at it. Her eyes were closed and her fingers moved at once slowly and rapidly along the pipe. Around her wrists and the ankle propped on the windowsill were snuggly-wrapped linen bandages.

The inquisitive prefect's eyes traveled to the desk: there were stacks of paper in a tiny neat script that she could not make out from where she was standing. There was an inkwell and quill also on the desk, but there was no sign that Airmed had been writing recently. Beside the stack of notes was a drum of some sorts: it was a piece of hide stretched over a circular wooden frame, with two struts tied behind it in an equal-armed cross to hold on and a stick of some kind to play with, she assumed.

Guessing that the consequences would be dire if the temperamental Knight caught her, Hermione simply walked away. She never knew that Airmed knew that she was there. Soon after Hermione left, she stopped the song and meditated on the notes that she had just played. Those listening to it were correct in the assumption that it was a dirge, but it was more meaningful than just that. This song was for everyone that had been lost: brothers, sisters, fathers, mothers, and children. It was for the cause of all of their sorrows: loss. There were far too many to bear alone. But bear it alone, she must.

She had no other choice.


	9. Thy Friendship Makes us Fresh

Saturday proved to be Airmed's saving grace. The sky was riddled with rain clouds and thunder boomed from the sky. Normally, she would have trained rain or shine, but today she felt like giving herself a rest to heal. Her ankle and ribs were feeling much better, but she had to go see Pomfrey, probably after breakfast, to get her to assess her injuries and declare her fully healed. Once that had happened, then she could begin again. For now, it felt good to rest.

Her body pleasantly sore from yesterday's training, she got up and took another shower. Her dorm-mates still asleep, Airmed dressed in loose chestnut leather pants and a black mid-arm-sleeved tunic with blood-red embroidery on the hems. Today, at least, she did not put her vambraces on. Instead, she made sure that she had at least five knives on her person. Only one of them was visible, as she tucked her feet into winter boots and tied her knife belt around her waist.

Airmed loved it when it rained. Her mother told her that she and Marcus were born on a rainy Samhain day all those years ago. Queen Ethne, in her training as a priestess, told her that rain was a gift from the Dagda to help grow the crops. The few leprechauns that she knew in the Seelie Court told her stories as a child of cauldrons of gold and treasures at the end of the rainbows, but they would only appear if you were patient enough to wait out the storm.

To her, rain was the ultimate balm. It washed away all of the evil, all of the blood, all of the pain. It washed away the sadness of death. At the end of the storm, when the air was crisp and still smelled of the storm, was when everything seemed possible. Rain brought the opportunity of a new start, of new beginnings. There was no past with the rain, only a future.

She shook her head to clear away the philosophy of the morning. It was far too early to be waxing philosophical like this. Besides, today was meant to be her day to rest and recover. It did not mean that she could not do this later. But first, she needed some food.

Breakfast with the Slytherins turned out to be an interesting affair. By now, the whole school knew of her eccentricity and allowed her it. After listening to her fact-riddled argument and logical reasoning, they agreed to letting her sit with different tables. It allowed them to talk about the other houses unhindered by wandering ears, and it allowed her to listen and be free of inter-house biases. She may have been sorted into Gryffindor, but she learned like a Ravenclaw, worked like a Hufflepuff, and kept secrets like a Slytherin. It was the first time that any of them had seen her in clothes other than chain-mail or the school uniform, though, so that garnered a whole new set of whispering.

As she sat at the table, she got the male population mostly staring at her behind in her leather pants. She rolled her eyes at the whispers. Boys will by boys, be they adults or children. They just had to learn to control their hormones, instead of letting their hormones control them.

Anyway, the older students were focused on their NEWTs and OWLs, even this early in the year, so Airmed simply ate her morning ration of sausage, eggs, and toast. What made breakfast an interesting affair was that it provided further evidence to the theory that Airmed was formulating: whatever your House name was proved to be everything for your possible future. The centuries-old reputations of these houses produced bias that was passed down from parent to child, fueling discord at young ages. As a result, people only looked after their housemates in tight situations. The people within each house looked after their own members, but if a person from another house was in trouble… well, bollocks for them.

On Mann, Airmed was taught that everyone around her was her family, by bond if not blood. Everyone watched out for each other, regardless of family name or influence. That was one of the reasons that those with magic were not kept separate from those with no magic. It was so that they could learn from each other.

It also made betrayal a much harder medicine to swallow. Too many had fallen to the lure of the darkness, but she had the feeling that its influence was going to end in her lifetime. This war had gone on for far too long: it was going to end soon, for better or for worse.

When she was finished with her pumpkin juice, Airmed excused herself and headed up to the dorms. It was time for some weapon maintenance. Every week, she went over her tack and equipment to make sure that everything was ready to be used. It held dual purposes, this maintenance of hers. Donnchadh and her brothers and sisters all beat it into her head that there was no such thing as being too prepared for anything that might happen. It also served as a form of meditation for her, a way to calm her mind from the week's struggles.

Beginning to open her trunk, Airmed decided against it. Instead, she simply hauled her trunk onto her shoulder and walked down to the common room. Very few people were there at this time of day, and there was a table free near the morning fire. She grinned as her eye glowed: it was the perfect spot.

She lowered her trunk to the ground near the fire and began again. First, she pulled out her repair equipment. Of this, there was much to describe: a package of thick sewing needles; a diamond-blade awl; bow strings, curled up and wrapped in oiled paper; griffin feathers; a thick spool of Acromantula silk; whetstones of various sizes; sand paper for both wood and metal; wood varnish; small horsehair brushes; a coil of rawhide throngs; leather glue; a wrapped block of solid tallow; a small cauldron; a collection of rags.

By now, she had the common room's attention, but she did not care. Some people were watching her with interest, but the equipment that she was so casually handling terrified others. Humming a soft tune to herself, she placed the unwrapped tallow in the cauldron and hung it near the fire to melt slowly. Next, she made to bring out all of her live weapons. Little Euan was standing near her, his head cocked in curiosity. He asked her as only a little child could, "Can I help, Airmed?" She paused for a moment, her eye closed as she ruminated over her answer.

"No, Euan. This, I must do on my own. But I can show you what I am doing as I work, okay?" He looked so happy, but then she held up a finger. "But there are two rules. The first is that you must ask no questions. The second is that you are not to touch any of my weapons unless I give you permission. Is that understood?" When he nodded vigorously, she conjured up a stool for him to sit on next to her.

At this point, the Golden Trio walked in to see the crowd of people milling around the table near the fire. Ron did not care about the activities of the strange Manxman, but Hermione dragged him to the front of the queue to help satiate her own unquenchable curiosity. Harry discretely walked to the side where there were not as many people, landing himself a prime view of what was going on.

As Airmed pulled out her weapons, she named them one by one for Euan's sake: longsword, longbow, glaive, arrows, daggers, mace, axe, and quarterstaff. As he looked them over without touching them, she pulled out her chainmail and cloth armor pieces, folding them to the side of the table. Now, she was completely ready for the tasks at hand.

One by one, Airmed inspected the scabbards of the longsword and daggers and the quiver of her arrows, and then looked for wearing patterns in the leather grips of all of her weapons. When she was pleased with what she saw, she began to inspect the weapons themselves. As she looked them over, she told Euan what she was looking for: were there any dents? Burs? Nicks? Were the handle wrappings coming loose? Was the wood splintering? Were the runes on the weapons still intact, or would they need redoing? Did any of the arrows need re-fletching? Were any of the edges in need of sharpening?

When all of the questions were answered, Airmed began to work. Her daggers were fine this week, needing nothing more than a quick polish with one of the rags. Her mace needed sharpening on a few of the protrusions, and the leather wrapping for the handle was coming loose; for that, she used a whetstone and a rag to sharpen and polish, and then she re-wrapped the leather after applying a small tab of glue to the edges. The axe handle was splintering a touch, and the bearded blade needed a sharpening quite direly. Her arrows were good save for a sharpening on a few of the arrowheads. Her longbow was still in good condition, from constant care. Her quarterstaff needed a new coat of varnish. The blade portion of her glaive needed a good sharpening. Her longsword was in extreme need of polishing. With that, she was finished with her weapons and placed them aside.

As she packed away the weapons, letting them sink into the contained black mist that covered her belongings, Euan pointed to the pot of semi-melted tallow over the edge of the fire. "What's that for?"

Airmed cocked an eyebrow at him, all in serious fun. "I thought I told you to ask no questions?" That got him gasping and covering his mouth. "It's okay, little one." On the table, she pointed a finger over at her vambraces, hauberk, and coif. "The tallow is for my chain-mail. Now, how do you protect metal from rusting with moisture exposure?"

Although Airmed had directed the question at Euan, Hermione immediately jumped in. "Rust-proof charms, of course." She looked smug at the quickness of her answer, self-assured of its veracity.

The look on Airmed's face was easily on par with Snape's deadliest glare. "'Ermione, if I ask you a question, then you will know it. That was for Euan here. And besides, that answer is incorrect." Turning to the pot on the fire, she wrapped her hand in a rag and lifted the pot off the fire and set it on the table. "No, we put this," she stuck her fingers into the gelatinous mixture and lifted out some semi-melted tallow, "and rub it in circles over the chain-mail. It can be a bit of a mess at times, but it protects the mail quite well. My armor and weapons have runic protections on them to prevent weather damage, but they need renewing every so often." Airmed lifted up her hauberk and showed a little metal etching near the neck. "Rust-proof charms could work, but they would be a constant drain on my magic in a time when I might need all of it for the task at hand." As she applied the tallow over the minute interwoven steel rings, she continued her miniature lecture. "That's one of the reasons why I wear my gambeson underneath the mail. Firstly, it cushions blows from weapons. Secondly, it makes sure that the extra grease doesn't get onto me."

Euan got a little laugh out of that as she inspected the gambeson for any rips and her hauberk and coif for any worn ties or missing links. As she did so, she cleaned her hands off with one of her cleaner rags, getting rid of the excess grease. When that was complete and she was satisfied with the state of her equipment, she packed away all of her belongings back into her mysterious trunk, closed it, and headed back up to the dorms.

Airmed appeared quickly soon after only to walk in the general direction of the infirmary. Like Donnchadh told her to, she had Madam Pomfrey take a look at her ribs and arm. She might as well get her to look at her ankle as well: there was no such thing as being too healed.

Pomfrey had her sitting on an empty bed as soon as she limped into the infirmary. With a quick diagnostic spell, Pomfrey spoke a few incantations and cured the ailments. Airmed endured the disgusted tongue clicking at the prolonged potions use, but she was deemed healed enough to continue her training. Now it was time to get back to her normal weekend ways.

When she returned to the dormitories, Airmed did not come out of the bedroom for the rest of the day. She chose to talk via serpent-mail with her brother and her fiancée as she continued to work on her homework due on Monday and Tuesday. For the sake of what little privacy she had in the sleeping arrangements, she held the conversations in Manx.

Both of them were glad to hear from her. Niamh asked after her, but his voice sounded similar to Donnchadh's as she described student life at Hogwarts. Marcus complained in good spirits about his posting, wanting so badly to return to the front line. Airmd was glad to hear their voices, instead of hearing word of their deaths and funerals.

Hermione and Lavender joined her halfway through her conversation with Marcus, giving no reason for their silent and obvious observation of her under the pretense of reading some book. Airmed saw through that: they were attempting to listen in for details about her.

When Gwydion slinked away at the end of her conversations, Airmed glared at the two of them. Does this school, do these people, have no grasp of the concept of honor, or at least guile? Why is it that someone's personal business and affairs are questioned after in the most obtuse and obvious fashions? At least back home, spies were discrete.

"I will say this one time, and one time alone. My personal life is just that: personal. If and when I trust you enough to share parts of it, then you will know it. Until then, do not try to eavesdrop on private conversations." With that, the girls disappeared quickly from her line of sight.

For the remainder of the day, Airmed worked on her natural philosophy assignment after she finished her school homework. After doing some more research, she created a hypothetical breeding plan. It was impossible to test it, since she had to physically splice the plants and combine them to breed, and that was something beyond her skill level. Perhaps one of the green robes back home would be able to make it work.

Sunday brought a new set of challenges. None of her female dorm mates wanted to talk to her after yesterday's display, but a few of the boys in the dorms showed piqued interest in her weapons. For the morning, she spent her time educating them on her weapons and how she trained to be proficient. That was challenge because of her oaths, but Airmed was happy to work around them if it meant a change in the view of Manxmen here at Hogwarts.

Seamus Finnegan turned out to be a surprise friend. Around lunchtime, he sat near her and began to speak in stilted Gaelic. She had to pause for a moment and smile at him for attempting the effort. For the length of their long conversation, she helped his pronunciation and grammar, but they talked about idle things. In the corner, Neville looked at her and nodded. The more people she interacted with during her stay in Hogwarts, the more she could report back to her superiors.

Sunday happened to be a Hogsmeade visit day, so Airmed accompanied Neville, Seamus, and their group of friends to the little village outside of the castle boundaries. Airmed's heartstrings tugged at the simple familiarity of this place. It was just like home: the little houses, the people that knew one another and talked on the streets, the hawking of wares.

She needed some new quills and refills on some of her potion ingredients, so when the massive Hogwarts crowd came to the gates of Hogsmeade, she quietly separated from them and wandered the road, asking questions of the locals until she came to Scrivenshaft's. There was such a variety of writing supplies available, but she simply pulled out phials of black ink and a few eagle feather quills. British money still confused her a little, so she simply handed the coins to the cashier and prayed that he gave her the right amount of change.

Afterwards, she walked to the Dogweed and Deathcap, a Herbology shop. The storeowner was far more helpful than at Scrivenshaft's, helping her to select good-quality ingredients and storing them away for her as she browsed the shop. When she was finished, all of the ingredients were in little glass jars and under stasis charms until she returned to Hogwarts. The storeowner saw the dragon tattoo on her hand and insisted on giving Airmed a discount on her purchases. Airmed tried to refuse gently. She wanted to pay for the goods in full. In the end, she paid the discount, but also paid the storeowner a gratuity for her helpful service. Before the lady could argue about it, Airmed took her newly bought goods and left.

Neville had insisted that she try out Honeydukes and the Three Broomsticks with them before she left. Honeydukes, it turned out, was a candy store. Airmed never liked to indulge on candy: it made her head spin and her stomach turn. Fruit was her favorite desert. Still, she explored the crowded shop and picked out a few simple things that the students around her suggested she try: Ice Mice, Chocolate Frogs, and Sugar Quills. She avoided the Every-Flavor Beans after trying a broccoli-flavored one.

The last stop on the list was the Three Broomsticks for a meal and something good to drink. Seamus invited her to his table and they talked. Also sitting there were Dean Thomas, Neville, and Fred and George Weasley. They recommended the Butterbeer, which warmed her right up as she waited for her fish and chips. They laughed at her for trying such a normal food, but she laughed with them and told them that this was the first time that she had tried them, ever. That got them talking about their favorite foods, and the conversations went from there.

That night, Airmed slept well for the first time since coming to Hogwarts. She was relaxed and at peace, even if her heartstrings still tugged a little for home. Not even Hermione's pestering questions about her purchases could ruin her euphoric mood.

When she came out of the dorm room on Monday dressed and ready for classes, she saw a copy of the 'Daily Prophet' on the Gryffindor table in the Great Hall. What she saw on the front page made her blanch and her good mood disappear completely:

"DOLORES UMBRIDGE NAMED HIGH INQUISITOR OF HOGWARTS!"


	10. Thy Offense is Rank

The next few weeks went smoother than the first, at least for Airmed. She attended all of her classes, listening carefully and taking notes. She did not talk too much, continuing with her laconic mannerisms. She spoke only when spoken to, and mostly only to the teachers. The library became her dorm room sometimes, Madam Pince waking her at the closing time if she fell asleep doing research for both her classes and for the curse-breakers back home. She increased the amount of time that she spent at Hogsmeade to the absolute maximum, spending all day there if she could.

She did all this to keep out of Dolores Umbridge's radar. At the unexpected announcement of her new station, Umbridge was even more of a threat to Airmed being at Hogwarts. That stupid woman was watching her every move, waiting for Airmed to make a mistake and send her to detention. The Blood-Quill was an experience that she cared not to repeat again. So, she employed the first lesson learned at the Academy: be unnoticed.

Her vambraces remained hidden under the sleeves of her cloak. Her dagger was now in the small of her back, or even tucked away into her bag. On the Fridays for her combat practice, Donnchadh came and went under invisibility charms, and she would not come into the great hall at all on those days. Instead, she would take meals in the kitchens with the house elves.

It did not matter that she was a legal student attending this place, let alone the ambassador for her nation. Umbridge made it clear to her every class that she despised all things not of British pureblood categorization. Airmed was the epitome of all that she stood against: an old-fashioned foreigner not afraid to disagree with what she was doing. Why the Ministry toad despised anything from the Isle of Man so much, Airmed did not want to find out. Frankly, some things were better left undiscovered.

It started out innocuously enough. Umbridge would come into random classes and inquire- for some, interrogate- the professors and some of the students about teaching history, class patterns, and the general lesson plan, as well as how the students perceived the professors. Airmed was never asked for her opinions, and she never shared it otherwise. Why would she, if a word from any student could have the power to fire a teacher?

During those times, Airmed made sure only to have meetings with Aunt Morgana in her office over cups of tea, and not during the day in her classes. Instead, during the daytime they used their snakes. Gwydion became a constant companion to her, wrapping himself around her arm and resting his head on her shoulder. At first, some of the teachers were wary about the snake, but once she assured them all that he would not attack any student and that she had to remain in close contact with her Academy over the coming weeks, they allowed him in their classes.

That was not a lie. Usually on Thursday or Wednesday, Airmed would disappear from the school in the morning and would not be seen until dinner that night. She carried files of documents with her, and she always seemed disappointed by the end of that day.

She never told any of the students, but she was trying to begin placing in motion a change between the relationships of Mann and Britain, and by conjunction Scotland, Cornwall, and Wales. Ireland was still readily trading with them, and had proved a staunch ally to the war effort. France, Germany, and the Scandinavian countries were also proving open to renewing their ties with Mann through trade and politics. But in order to defeat the darkness once and for all, they were going to need more allies.

Soon after, the educational decrees began to come out. There were so many, Airmed eventually lost count. The list went on and on: teachers are banned from giving students any information that is not strictly related to the subjects they are paid to teach… proper dress and decorum is to maintained at all times… all students will submit to questioning about suspected illicit activities.

That last one proved to be a sticking point. Airmed was one of the first to be questioned. Brought into Umbridge's office, she was offered a cup of tea. She refused it, and brought out a file of papers that she had taken to keeping with her. She pulled out two in particular: one stated that Sir Airmed Wolfshead firstly reported to the Aurorian Academy, and as such required one of its training masters or express permission from her king in order to answer questions from the High Inquisitor. This was to ensure that the oath of silence made by Sir Wolfshead would not be broken by any unnecessary questions. If no such permission had been given, then she was not to answer or accept anything from the High Inquisitor. The second piece of paper basically granted her diplomatic immunity because of her status as Manx ambassador to the Ministry of Magic, recognized (if only barely tolerated) by Cornelius Fudge.

That made Airmed's life hell. Umbridge continually followed her around, even going as far as to demand her to open her trunk in a 'surprise' inspection. Again, Airmed used the same letter that said that she had to apply for permission from King Nuada or her training masters before this. Frankly, she forgot to disclose the fact that she would not bother the king or her teachers over a trivial matter like this. She did, however, keep records of the bigotry against her displayed by Umbridge, in case proof was needed in a future investigation.

Despite this legal barrier that kept Umbridge at a mostly safe distance, Airmed took no chances. After the first day of interrogations, she strengthened the blood magic on her trunk to forbid anyone from opening it except her. The privacy spells were strengthened from their normal flowing black mist to a solid mass of black storm clouds. The shields around her mind became solid steel: nothing was going to penetrate her mind without revealing itself to her.

Near the end of September on one of her Friday lessons, Donnchadh worked her harder than ever, making both of them bleed and curse. When he arrived today, he forgot his invisibility spells and was spotted by Umbridge, who audaciously insisted on questioning him about the content of their private lessons. He point-blank refused to answer any of her questions.

He had good reasons to be surly. In the last month, according to his reports, there had been no progress on the dragon's curse, and they had lost twenty-five men to the dark side and ten more to Manannan's embrace. Airmed was one of their most talented Knights, at least in his opinion, and he desperately wanted her back on the Isle to help fight the darkness. She wanted to return as well, but the decision was not up to either of them. The decision was up to Master Conn.

With that in mind, he pushed her harder than ever before, and she did nothing but embrace it without complaining. Granted, she had trained every morning and pushed her limits since her ribs and ankle had been healed by Pomfrey at the beginning of September. But this particular week was the first that she had fought with a broken arm since she was training as a preteen: she was too slow in blocking, and the butt of Donnchadh's war hammer slammed down against her right forearm.

At the end of the practice, Airmed was in a foul mood. Donnchadh had apologized for breaking her arm, but neither of them were good magical healers. Using legs from a desk and torn pieces from her tabard, she had to bite her lip as he tied the knots tight and set her arm to heal properly, tying it in a sling when he was done. This would mean another trip to Madam Pomfrey later, but first she needed some food.

But it seemed that her misfortunes would continue, despite her best wishes. Airmed was just about to tuck in when… "Airmed, may I sit here?" Hermione pointed to the bench next to her. Biting back a moan and lifting her eye skyward to the gods for aid, she nodded. Her left hand toyed with the cutlery knife as she continued to eat her meal in silence.

For once the prefect was not pestering her with her constant questioning, to start out at least. That lasted… all of five minutes, before, "So Airmed, how'd you hurt your eye?"

Airmed resisted letting loose the growl building in the back of her throat, but she felt herself growing tense nonetheless. "It's none of your business, prefect." She picked up the goblet in front of her, sipping at the water. This seemed to be a common theme with Hermione: she asked questions, and when refused an answer, she would pester and pester until she got the answer that she wanted to hear. There was no middle ground with her.

"Well, how many fights have you been in? You're only, what? Fifteen? It couldn't be that many, right?" Cue the pestering phase, right on schedule.

"Hermione, stop it." Airmed looked across the table at Harry. One of his hands, the one with his Blood Quill scar scrawled on it, was curled into a fist on top of the table. In a later moment, she wondered why he was leaping to defend her honor as it were. But right now, she was only thankful for him intervening before blood was shed. "If she wanted to tell us, then she would tell us." She nodded to him, and he nodded back. At least Harry understood what she was feeling.

Hermione did not understand it, though. "But you've been here for a month, and you've barely spoken to anyone about where you came from. I mean, it must be interesting, even if you dress peculiarly." As she bit into her sandwich, Hermione was totally unaware that Airmed was getting close to completely losing it.

The glare on Airmed's face was enough to burn holes through the table. "Prefect Granger, I will tell you this only once more. I will not talk about my home or my family. I cannot talk about my schooling or the Academy. Now, please, the phrase you use, I believe, is 'drop it'." The air around the young Knight was colored red with anger. Her left hand began to glow deep blue as she tried to control her magic from bursting out of her skin and lashing out at the girl sitting next to her.

Even then, Hermione did not notice the volatile reaction and refused to let it go. "No! I mean, we're friends, Airmed! It's unhealthy to keep these things inside, you know?"

Airmed looked at Hermione with a cocked eyebrow, her magic under control again. "What led you to that conclusion?"

Hermione's brow furrowed. "What? That we're friends?"

Airmed nodded, tapping the tips of her fingers on the table. "Yes. That one." Gods, was this girl dense?

The Gryffindor prefect stared at the Manxman Knight with a hurt look on her face. "Well…" When faced with that question, Hermione could not come with an answer. She looked confused and offended that she was asked such a question.

Airmed turned back to the table and almost sneered. "Let me help you. We are not friends. We have never been friends. We will never be friends. Not today, not tomorrow, and not any time in the foreseeable future."

"Why not?" The little child had the audacity to continue looking like the Knight had just killed her damn cat. At this point, Airmed was far beyond caring. She held up her good hand and began ticking off points with her fingers.

"You pry into my private life. You try to pry into my trunk. You demand to know about my troth. You call my armor 'peculiar dress'." She looked at Hermione, and noted that the hurt expression was slowly being replaced with anger. "Shall I continue?" She did not allow Hermione the chance to answer. "You think that just because I dress for battle, that I dress 'peculiarly'?" Airmed slammed her hand down on the table so hard that it resounded through the entire hall. "You know nothing about me!"

"Well then, tell me!" Hermione's face was getting redder and redder. "I want to know!"

"You want to know how I 'hurt' my eye, correct?" Airmed was visibly seething. Her ears were drawn back, making her face look taut and the gap where her eye should have been more menacing. "I was twelve years old. I had just celebrated my natality and was back in my room, when my best friend gave me a cup to drink. We had grown up together, had trained together. We had made a childhood oath to be knighted together. We were as thick as thieves.

"Thinking nothing of it at the time, I drank from it, letting whatever she laced the mead with knock me out and fall to the ground. I woke to find myself restrained to my bed, a gag shoved in my mouth, with her above me holding a wicked sharp knife. I tried to ask her what was going on, but couldn't. She leaned over me and began to cut out my eye as I screamed bloody murder. She needed the eye and the blood of a powerful mage to work the spell that would unleash more evil power for her to acquire. My best friend in the world was turning dark right before my eyes. Perhaps she was already dark when I first met her, and she was simply an exceptional actress.

"Luckily, her father was on guard duty and was coming by my room on the course of his rounds when he found us before the spell was cast. He had to fight his own flesh and blood until the royal guards came and incapacitated her." She looked at the quivering fifth-year, despising her for the tears crawling down Hermione's face. She never asked for pity, and never wanted it. "I spent two weeks in the infirmary under armed guard by order of the headmaster. My own brothers couldn't come and visit me until I was discharged with a bandage wrapped around my eye socket. It took me months until I could fight like I used to. That was six years ago, Prefect. That makes me eighteen, not fifteen."

Her voice grew louder and angrier. There was no holding back, now that her dam was broken and everything was flooding out of it. "What else do you want to know, you stupid girl? That I dress 'peculiarly' because my country is in the middle of a war that had gone on for almost a hundred years? That I've been fighting for my king since I was thirteen? That when I was five, I saw my mother and father and oldest sister burned down in front of me by dragon fire? That out of my five brothers and two sisters, I have only one brother left?"

The entire hall was silent, teachers and students alike. If you dropped a pin on the floor, its echoes would be heard. At the teacher's table, you could see tears coming down both McGonagall and Flitwick's faces as they remembered the atrocities that they had endured in their service. Sure, many of the students were curious, but this was far worse than what anyone had anticipated. None of them had expected this.

"I have killed more men and creatures than you have ever fathomed! I have been part of this war since my parents died in front of me! Euan…" She clenched her jaw for a moment, trying not to let her voice shake. "I held my eleven year old brother as he died in my arms from a fatal wound; I was thirteen and newly-knighted. Padraic, Cian, Drustan… Saoirse, Nuala… All of them are dead, and I have witnessed every one of their passings!" Her eye was almost red with unprecedented fury as she glared down at a sobbing Hermione, a stone-faced Harry, and a bewildered Ron.

With a motion too quick to see, Airmed grabbed the knife from the table and slammed it tip-down halfway through the thick oak timber. "I was sent here for a reason only the gods know! And when I came here, none of you understood the concept of war! You are at war! Voldemort and his forces will only do to you what the Darkness had done to my people! If you don't get him under control, he will destroy this place and then set his eyes on Mann! And yet, you all do nothing to combat him! Instead, you go on about your days without a care in the world! You forget that it was you and your government that banned my people from your island two hundred years ago, because we weren't like you! We had protected this country since its creation, and that was the thanks we received in return?"

Her fury was starting to wear down, but it was not gone quite yet. Airmed took a few breaths and stared at all of the faces looking at her in fear before turning back to Hermione. "You dare assume that you deserve anything, just because you are a prefect of this backwater school. You have eavesdropped on my conversations, and you have asked invasive questions after being repeatedly refused. I am a battle mage and a gods-cursed black robe, and you will learn never to cross my path again."

Turning on her feet and walking out of the Great Hall in righteous wrath, she left everyone with stones in their hearts. Before she reached the door and without turning around, she raised her good arm and twisted her fingers. The knife embedded in the Gryffindor table flew to her hand and she slammed it hilt-deep into the door. With another flick of her hand, she opened the massive oak doors and walked out of the hall.

No one saw hide or hair of her for an hour. It was like Airmed had vanished. Professor McGonagall took one hundred points away from her own house for Hermione's outright display of childish behavior and her un-Gryffindor conduct towards a fellow student. No one searched for the young Knight, not after that display in the Great Hall. No one wanted to bear the brunt of that anger, not after Hermione ran to the girl's washroom and cried her eyes out at being singled out like that.

Finally, Parvati came into the girl's dorms and found Airmed locking up her trunk. Her bad arm was now wrapped around her body instead of just hanging in a sling; she had not been to the infirmary, not yet at least. With her coif pushed down and her face calm once more, Airmed looked less fierce from behind. However, appearances had proved to be deceiving with this woman.

"Professor Dumbledore has agreed to my request to a different living arrangement, Ms. Patil." Airmed spoke without turning around from where she knelt on the floor. "He has also agreed to my other request to disown myself from Gryffindor House." As she locked her trunk, Airmed lifted up her bandaged hand. In a show of strength and endurance of pain, the Knight lifted her trunk onto her injured shoulder and walked out.

Parvati followed Airmed to the common room where she posted something onto the notice board. After, she walked to a chair in front of the fireplace where muffled crying sounds were coming from. With what they now saw as sisterly care, Airmed sat next to Euan Abercrombie and held him in her arm as she comforted him. Parvati could not hear the words spoken, but it got the little first-year calmed down enough so that she could leave.

One thing was very clear now: you did not mess with Sir Airmed Wolfshead, without expecting any consequences.


	11. God Knows When We Shall Meet Again

So began an uneasy truce between the British students and the Manxman mage. The whispering stopped altogether; no one dared to gossip about Airmed behind her back after that memorable display in the Great Hall. When she entered a classroom, there was silence for only a moment before the chatter resumed. For her part, Airmed stopped talking to the students; the only words to come out of her mouth were addressed to the professors.

Airmed acted like a different person once again. Despite the blatant warning etched onto her hand, she no longer wore the Hogwarts uniform. Instead of the dress pants and shirts, Airmed wore black tunics and leather pants underneath a black cloak; the hems of her pants and shirts and the lining of her cloak were a vibrant crimson red, almost the color of freshly spilled blood. Her sword was strapped to her back baldric-style, and her dagger was thrust through her belt. A satchel was always on her shoulder, full of her books. Underneath her pants were black leather knee-high boots, always done up to a shine.

Whenever Umbridge tried to deduct points from Airmed, she was unsuccessful. Airmed was of no house, and, unknown to the students, she would be returning to Mann during the winter break. Umbridge was furious about that, and took it out on the other students. It seemed that Airmed now possessed some form of diplomatic immunity by openly disowning herself from the rest of the Hogwarts populace. She rarely used it, though.

From the end of September onwards, Airmed was an exemplary student. Her assignments were always in on time; her class work was neatly and silently done. In the evenings and often late into the nights, she could be found in the library doing heavy-duty research of one sort or another. She spoke only when spoken to by the professors, and rarely to her fellow students. Save for her sudden extremely taciturn and laconic behavior, she would have been a role model to anyone attending Hogwarts.

When Airmed left the common room on that fateful day, the note that she left pinned to the notice board was addressed to them all. It was simply put: "For those that wish to learn to fight, find me on the Quidditch pitch at six in the morning. Dress warmly." When people saw it they shuddered in fear, but some of them were curious.

That was why, on a cold day in the fourth week of September, eleven brave Gryffindors stood in front of Airmed as she strapped on her weighted gambeson and passed out quarterstaffs for them to carry as they ran. All twelve of them did push-ups and sit-ups until the eleven Hogwarts students moaned. Harry Potter, Neville Longbottom, Fred and George Weasley, Seamus Finnegan, Katie Bell, Angelina Johnson, Alicia Spinnet, Euan Abercrombie, Dean Thomas, and Parvati Patil groaned at the grueling regime, but they did not complain when they saw what Airmed pushed herself to do.

Airmed took it easy on them: she did not give them weighted weapons or weights to wear when they ran. Neither did she tell them to do all that she did. Still, she pushed their limits. Blisters, bruised fingers, sore egos… The worst injuries were pulled muscles and cramped arms. She was only teaching them staff fighting and archery, but Airmed saw that even this was a challenge for them.

Little Euan tried so hard to keep up to the upper-years, but Airmed refused to take it easy due to his age. Every time she pushed him, he got better. He was a natural archer, so much like her own deceased little brother. It hurt her heart to watch him, but she pushed herself to lock away her tears to work with him.

However, few of them took this seriously. Parvati was here to keep in shape. Seamus and Dean wanted to look hot for the girls. Fred and George were constantly playing pranks on her. Only the three Quidditch girls took this seriously, applying themselves with discipline worthy of Manxmen. Harry was ambivalent as to the purpose behind these lessons, but he observed nonetheless. After one week of daily lessons, Airmed told them all not to come back. Needless to say, few of them were overtly disappointed save Euan.

During the same time as these lessons, it became somewhat of a sport among the students to discover where the errant Knight was staying. Due to her stoic silence, she was drawing more attention than she wished again. Students wanted to ask her questions, but first they had to find her. She was not in any of the dorms or classrooms, but that still left hundreds of possibilities. They would not dare ask Airmed directly, because where was the challenge in that? Harry had even checked the Marauder's Map at Ron's behest, but there was no trace of her lodgings. It was like she had become a ghost.

Hermione approached him after one of his last training sessions about starting up a defense class of their own. What with Voldemort come back and the Ministry doing nothing to protect its citizens, and Umbridge doing nothing to help them pass their OWLS, they desperately needed help. Harry was the most experienced out of them all. So, he was the perfect candidate to lead them. He reluctantly accepted the nomination, but internally he struggled with this. Was this going to be another round of 'Mock the Potter', or would some of these people that Hermione had gathered truly want to learn how to defend themselves?

Needless to say, the crowd that came to the Hog's Head in late September had to have proof of his exploits. On that point, Harry refused to tell them of his 'victories'. It had earned him nothing but heartache and scars. Some of the others wondered out loud if Airmed was going to be the one to teach them all. Hermione quickly shot that idea down. Airmed had humiliated her that day, and she had not forgiven the Knight for it yet. From Harry's point of view, Airmed was the one deserving of an apology from Hermione. But that was not important right now.

What was important was that everyone agreed that this group was necessary, if they were at least to pass their OWLs. Some of them still did not really believe that Voldemort was back, but it was a start at least. Harry's only stipulation to the membership was that everyone made a magical oath not to reveal any information about the names of the group members or the purpose of the group to any non-member, or else they would lose their magic. The mood of the room dropped at the severity of the oath, but everyone made it to add another level of safety to the group. Now, they had to find a place to practice as the newly christened Dumbledore's Army.

When Harry was travelling the seventh floor after one of his classes, he stumbled upon the perfect place by accident. Actually, he was wishing for a safe place for them all to practice as he passed a tapestry of troll ballerinas, when the tapestry dissolved and became a door in the wall. Ron was the one to open it, and what a surprise they all got.

Two walls were books, nothing but books; all of them were about curses, hexes, dueling, spells, and general defense. The floor was covered in mats, to soften blows and falls. Off to the side were dummies of all shapes and sizes. The third wall was a giant seamless mirror. A curtain covered the contents of the fourth wall from view. In the middle of the room was Airmed.

Stripped down to her leather pants and a tight black breast band, her white hair braided tightly and her back facing them, she was in the centre of the room doing chin-ups. Her feet were tied with what appeared to be ten-pound weights. All of the scars on her back were revealed to the world: the strange navy-blue marks, various stab and slice scars, and what looked like a wound from an arrow piercing her right shoulder blade. Underneath them all were the oldest scars of the lot: they looked like whip marks. As Harry walked closer, he could see the scar on her neck clearly for the first time since the Opening Feast: it was a waxing crescent moon.

"Well now, isn't this a surprise." Airmed held her last chin-up longer than the rest before letting herself down slowly to kneel on the ground and untie the weights from her ankles. "How did you find me?"

"We needed a place to train in defensive spells." Harry watched as she gathered up the weights and walked over behind the curtained area. He heard splashing of water and a sigh before she came out. Her shirt was half done up as she stood before them.

"So you want to use this, the Room of Requirement?" She shrugged her shoulders. "Makes sense to me." There was a silent moment as she did up the shirt buttons. "I make it clear now: this curtained area is off limits. If even one of you looks behind it, any one of you, I'll kick you all out, OWLs or no OWLs." Before she turned away, she heard the gasps. "Don't worry. No one broke that magical oath you made them swear; nice touch there, by the way, Harry. I only know about this little Army of yours because I was there." The grin on her face was akin to a cat licking cream from its paws. "You must get better at detecting invisibility spells, as a little tip."

"But Disillusionment Charms are NEWT-level material! How did you learn that?" Hermione was acting like a child whose favorite toy had been taken away from her.

Airmed simply rolled her eyes. "'Ermione, I'm eighteen years old, remember? I've been performing such spells since I was eleven." Rolling her shoulders, she pushed her sleeves up to her elbows. "Like I said, what I know compared to what you know is like comparing an ocean to a lake. It's a pointless activity." She summoned a book to her hand. "Now, when are you planning on holding these little practices of yours?"

"About three times a week, on the same days as Defense." Harry took over the talking. "I was planning to start small on simple things. It will be lots of demonstrating and then practice." He showed a small grin at her.

Airmed chuckled a few times before creating a leather chair for her to recline on. "I knew that you were paying attention, Potter." She nodded a few times. "How many people?"

"There's about thirty. It's only the Gryffindors, Hufflepuffs, and Ravenclaws. No snakes allowed." For the first time in a long time, Airmed heard Ron Weasley speak. He sounded so proud when he said that. For the moment, Airmed held her tongue. It was when he said, "Dark wizards, all of them," that she glared at him.

"Belonging to Slytherin does not make you an automatic Dark wizard, Ronald Bilius Weasley. There may be a precedent for it, but it is not an automatic conclusion. If you actually read through your History textbooks instead of sleeping through class, you would know that Ravenclaw has produced a few Dark Lords in its time." Airmed flexed her knuckles a few times, getting rid of any stiffness. "If I hear such comments from you again, I will slit your tongue and make you a snake."

That was, obviously, the end of that discussion. Airmed turned to her chair and sat down, ignoring them. Harry sighed and led his friends out. Well, at least they were leaving in one piece. That was something.

"Harry, what did she mean about you paying attention?" Ron turned a confused face at his mate.

"She set up a Dueling Club a while back. It didn't work as well as she probably imagined, so she stopped it."

Hermione's face turned white in fear. "Harry, she's a Dark wizard! You can't trust her!"

Now that, Harry had a hard time believing. Airmed had spoken out fervently against the darkness whenever that topic was broached. For some odd reason, he found himself trusting her. "How did you come to that conclusion?" Harry did not realize that he was copying her words from the infamous Great Hall fight.

Hermione pushed him and Ron into an empty alcove and pulled out a thin book. "I've been trying to find any information on the Isle of Man since the beginning of term. This is all I was able to find." She flipped open to a marked page in the book and began to read out loud.

_"The Isle of Man is an insular mystery. No one knows why it closed its border to Britain two hundred years ago. All those alive at the time are now dead. What is known is how they classify their 'magic-users', as witches/wizards are referred to as. In use is a feudal-type class system, where the magic-user's rank is consequent of their standing in the social hierarchy. _

_"The most common type of magic-user, and the lowest in rank, is referred to as 'yellow robes'. These are akin to typical witches and wizards with all-purpose magic skills. _

_"The next rank is 'green robes'. These magic-users have specialized their craft to work with animals and plants. _

_"The third rank, and the middle of the hierarchy, is the 'blue robes'. These are healer-type magic users. _

_"The second highest rank achievable is the 'red robe' status. These are referred to as battle mages, capable of both offensive and defensive magics. Consider them similar to Aurors in British society. _

_"The highest rank in the Manx magical hierarchy, and ironically the rarest, are 'black robes'. These are powerful sorcerers, capable of great control of powerful magics and incantations. However, attaining this rank is a great risk to the magic-user. _

_"At the age of thirteen, those that have shown aptitude for a black robe status are taken into a secret place. Held down by their loved ones, they are made to endure brutal cutting of their backs as symbols are carved into them. After a period of waiting, if the symbols on the back heal with the color of their magic, the person is deemed 'black robe'. However, if the scars do not heal with the color of their magic, then the person most likely dies from overexposure of magic beyond their control. Many perish in this ritual." _

The three British students were silent as they digested this, but it was Harry that spoke first. "What does it all mean?"

"Harry, it's blood magic! It's illegal, because it's a dark art!" There was this triumphant look on Hermione's face, like she had finally solved a great puzzle. "Airmed is a hypocrite: she yelled at me because she didn't want me spilling this secret, that she isn't what she said she is! I'm only worried that Dumbledore let such a dangerous person into Hogwarts!" The glint of triumph was replaced with a gleam of craziness.

Harry did not understand the fervor of hatred that Hermione held against Airmed. If the Knight had wished him harm, she had plenty of past opportunities in the last month to get him alone. But still, to keep Hermione quiet, he would watch out for Airmed.

So the DA began their meetings, three evenings a week, and worked on their skills. Some of the members had past dueling experience and training from private tutors, but most were beginners, even the upper years. Airmed was always silently watching the lessons: they were using her sleeping quarters, after all. Harry demonstrated the spells, pronunciation and wand motions both, several times before getting the students to show it back to him. He started off small, with just the basics. He tried his best to encourage the others to re-read their old textbooks and go over the defensive spells.

Every time they came into the Room of Requirement, everyone respected the one rule that Airmed had set out. No one so much as looked at the curtained area with a curious eye, much less wondered about what was behind it. None of them wanted to be on the receiving end of Airmed's hidden rage. Neither did they wish to be the one to get the DA kicked out. With Umbridge's newest decree against extra-curricular clubs, they had to be extremely cautious. That Airmed allowed them a place to practice instead of leaving them helpless was a great boon.

On Halloween Day, Airmed was seen entering the Headmaster's office for a few minutes before walking outside. Harry spotted her through one of the windows walking out into the blizzard and carrying a bundle of sorts instead of attending the feast. He wondered about her, but the rich feast kept his mind off of her.

The next time he saw her, she was lying in the infirmary with severe hypothermia and frostbite to her limbs the day after Halloween. Harry could not find Madam Pomfrey hovering around, so he took the chance at a closer look of the sleeping and shivering Knight. Her lips were blue, and the skin of her cheekbones, nose, and ears were red and chapped. Her fists were curled beside her, trying not to shiver with her body. Strangely enough, her upper torso was not covered by the blanket that her legs were. For the first time, Harry saw the rest of the scars. There were so many of them: small thin ones, thicker ones on her forearms, burn scars, and signs of old breaks. As he silently left, he could not help but wonder how she had accumulated such a collection. Harry never figured out that Airmed knew that he was looking at her old wounds. When she was released from the infirmary, Airmed's attitude began to change towards her year-mates.

By the second week of November, she advanced from watching the DA classes to helping to teach them. Her role was very much in the background, hardly noticeable unless you paid close attention. Airmed would quietly fix people's stances and postures, or slightly adjust their wand movements. It did not matter that she did not have a wand of her own; she was a keen observer of Harry's methods. Always she was polite and quiet, but confident in her corrections. It was never issued as orders or commands, but merely as suggestions to take into consideration.

When December came around, the week before winter holidays were to begin, the DA had their final meeting. Some of the members were disappointed that they did not get the chance to learn the Patronus Charm yet, but all of them were proud of the lengths that they had come since the beginning of October. Airmed, lounging in her leather chair, even gave them a small heartfelt applause for their efforts.

As everyone slowly left, Harry was left alone with Airmed. She was simply sitting down reading the book in her hands, but both of them knew that the other was waiting for the other to speak. Placing her book aside and standing, Airmed looked at Harry through the corner of her good eye. "You have a question, Harry?"

He peered at the Knight for a while in silence, unsure of what to say. Finally, he decided to simply say it. "Why did you come here, Airmed?"

Her eyebrow rose at the question; evidently, it was not the one that she has thought he would ask. "I was ordered to, Harry. My training master thought that I might learn new skills here. My king and liege lord wanted to set up relations with Britain again, and felt that I was the best candidate for the position. I was not trained as an ambassador: I'm a warrior, a Knight. I prefer aggressive negotiations instead of diplomatic foreplay."

"Aggressive negotiations?" Harry was confused.

Airmed laughed once or twice as she replied, "Negotiations done at sword-point, young Potter." She walked a few paces and moved the curtain aside. Harry's breath stopped for a moment: she had hidden her cot and trunk from them all. He saw her open the trunk, pressing her thumb against the lock and lifting the privacy charms.

"You said, that night after our first detention, that some day you would tell me the tale of how you became a Knight." He was asking her back as she rummaged around for something. "You told me that it would have to be the right time before you trusted me with it." Airmed stopped her rummaging, but did not turn back right away. "Is it that time?"

Airmed shook her head as she stood up, a small bundle in her hands. "No, Harry. The time hasn't come yet. You haven't understood it all yet."

"Understood what?" Airmed conjured another chair for him to sit on. Harry was getting a little angry with all of the deflection. He had enough of that during the summer, and he did not want to hear more of it from Airmed.

"Understand what you have to do in order to defeat Voldemort." She levitated her own chair and a small table so that she was sitting in front of him and facing him.

Harry's mind was racing a mile a minute as he tried to comprehend what she had just said. "You know… you know how?"

Airmed shook her head as she began to gently unwrap the bundle in her hands. "Only theories. Only ideas. My master sent me here to learn, yes, but he also told me to try and talk to you, to see what you know. We want to help you, Harry. We want to be your allies. I wasn't kidding when I yelled at 'Ermione that if Voldemort conquers Britain, he will turn his eyes to Mann and join the evil brewing there. I have been fighting it since I watched my parents die, doing all that I can. We are waiting, Harry: waiting for the one that will help us stop the fighting."

"Wait… are you talking about a prophecy?" Airmed's eyebrow shot up at the last word in the sentence. The only reason he knew what prophecies were was that he learned about it briefly in his Divinations textbook. "There's a prophecy about Mann?"

"Yes." She took a breath and looked at him without breaking eye contact. "There is another prophecy… one about you." She looked around the room and exhaled sharply. "That's all I was allowed to tell you, Harry. You have to figure out the rest on your own." She looked genuinely sorry as she finished unwrapping the bundle on the table between them.

Harry was trying to comprehend what she was saying. She reached across the table and tucked his chin up. "Mouth closed, Harry. I have no wish to see the back of your throat." That broke the tension, but Harry kept it in the back of his mind. He had some digging to do during the winter holidays: that was for sure. At least he was spending it at Order Headquarters. Maybe he could grill Sirius or Remus about this so-called prophecy.

Airmed looked at him before asking another question. "Do you believe in fate, Harry? That there is some kind of a plan for us that we follow because we have to, even if we don't know it?"

Harry shook his head. "I don't know. I don't think so. But then, I've never thought about it until you asked."

She nodded her head. "Think about it until we meet again, will you?" For the first time since he met her four months ago, Airmed looked reluctant. "Do you mind if I do a reading of you?"

"A what?" Harry was confused again.

"Consider it similar to the tarot card readings that your Divinations teacher might have taught you. You shuffle this deck of cards in your hands for as long as you need to, before placing them facedown on the cloth. You then pick the four cards from the top, with your left hand. I will flip them over, also with my left hand, and I will try to read what the cards are telling you. The only difference between these and regular tarot cards are that these tell you more of things to be aware of, instead of telling you a fortune of sorts." She showed the deck to him. "Are you willing?"

Harry never held much stock in Divinations, but then, Professor Trelawney was a bit of a quack. Airmed did not have that same quality about her. Besides, what was the harm? He nodded and took the cards in his hands. He shuffled them for almost five minutes before placing them on the cloth, just like Airmed had instructed. Just like she told him, he picked the four topmost cards with his left hand and placed them on the cloth.

Airmed opened a small journal on the table and flipped the cards over. She was right: these definitely were not tarot cards. The pictures on the cards were beautiful watercolours of an upside down otter, an upside down sow, an upside down plant (the label at the top called it 'flax'), and a bear. Airmed consulted the book on the table, mouthing some things under her breath before turning the book to Harry. She let him follow along with her interpretations, to show that she was not faking this.

"Here is what these cards mean." She pointed first to the otter. "When the otter is upside down, it means that you must be aware that you might be pushing against the natural order of things. It could be out of many reasons, but the two main ones are fear or stubbornness. Just relax, and let nature take its course. At the same time, do not be apathetic about it. Experience actions, react to them, and then finish."

Next was the sow. "This one is one of my personal favorites. The sow reversed reminds you to be aware of appearances. Judge not by outward appearances, but by a person's insides: their goals, their fears, and their ambitions. This requires you to be subtle, not relying solely on physical strength."

Pointing to the plant, she continued. "The flax reversed refers to possible unease that you might be feeling. You might feel small, unimportant right now. You might be disconnected from others that you rely on. There might be a simple change that you can make, or you can relax and let the natural order of things take its course, like the otter is trying to tell you."

Finally, she pointed to the bear. "This is a primal card, the bear. It is trying to tell you to be one with your instincts. They will never fail you, but they must not be guided by your fears. Marry your strength with your intuition and instincts, and you will be a force to reckon with."

With her right hand, she placed the cards and book back into the bundle, tying it up and leaning back to look at Harry. "Remember this year, Harry Potter. For this is only the beginning." Slapping her hand down on the chair, she sighed. "Your friends will be waiting for you, Harry. It would be best not to keep them waiting. Wouldn't want them to think that a dark wizard like me was corrupting their savior, would we?"

Harry sensed something odd about what she had just said. "Will you be back?"

Airmed nodded. "Yes. I will come back next year. I have never given you reason to mistrust me, Harry Potter. If not after the winter holidays, look for me when you become a sixth-year. Our paths, no doubt, will cross again." With that, Harry left her alone.

That was the last that Harry saw of Airmed in that year. When the students came back to the castle after winter holidays, Dumbledore announced to the school that Airmed Wolfshead had been called back to the Isle of Man. He gave no reason for it. When the DA convened for the first time in January, all that was left of her in the Room of Requirement was a note of four words: "Don't forget this year."


	12. Death Will Have His Day

Harry was sitting down at the Halloween feast, now a sixth year, and thought about the events of the past year. During the winter holidays, he had tried to talk to Sirius and Remus about the possibility of a prophecy about him, and whether or not it was the weapon that Voldemort was after. Both of them deflected his questions, but the looks on their faces told him that he was on the right path.

The Weasleys and Hermione joined him and the Order at Grimmauld Place for the winter holidays. That was when Harry began to notice discrepancies with Hermione and Ron's behaviors around him. Their interactions seemed forced at times. It was like they were putting far too much effort into talking to him. Ginny was doggedly pursuing him around the house, trying to act coy and sultry towards him even in front of her mother. Frankly, it disturbed him. His mind went back to the reading that Airmed had done for him before he left: about trusting his instincts and judging people by their inner qualities. Well, his inner radar was ringing every time that either one of his friends began to talk to him, telling him that something was amiss. Still, he worked through it.

The highlight of the winter holidays was spending time with Sirius and Remus. Despite their deflection of his questions, he had missed his dog-father and his father's friend. Harry could see that staying in this place, Sirius' childhood home, was not the best place for him: Sirius wanted to be normal, to take a walk outside without a glamour or disguise. For the time being, however, he was still a wanted man in the eyes of the Ministry. On the other hand, Remus' transformations were getting easier to bear. Snape supplied him with the Wolfsbane Potion every month like clockwork, and he made sure to lock himself away during those days.

When it came time to return to Hogwarts, Sirius promised to begin teaching him how to become an Animagus during the summer when he came back to this place. Both Remus and Sirius gifted him with two-way mirrors, so that he could talk to them if he was having problems.

His return was less than satisfactory. Umbridge's decrees had only gotten more ridiculous. Dress code was strictly enforced to the point that no one could wear anything but the Hogwarts black when on the grounds. Boys and girls were not to hold hands or be intimate in the hallways. Professors were not to talk about topics unrelated to their lesson plans. Trelawney was sacked, and Divinations was cancelled for the rest of the year until their OWL examination. It was now a self-study course for those that wanted to pass their OWLs.

Starting up the DA again was something Harry was now having doubts about. He did not want to get into trouble again this year. Umbridge was watching his every move, waiting for him to make a mistake. Already, he could not play Quidditch due to that stupid blanket ban on extra-curricular groups. What else was left for him? Schoolwork and studying for his OWLs was sucking up all of his spare time. But still, people had shown a great interest and even pleaded with him to help them ace their OWLs. That was a great surprise to him.

Another big surprise was when Snape began his Occlumency lessons. The only reason that Harry was given when he was forced to take these lessons was that the Headmaster ordered it so. Neither he nor Snape were impressed with that reason, but they both had no choice. Surprisingly enough, he was a natural at it. Even Snape was impressed, but he dared not show it. Harry had expected him to just cast spells on him, be rough with him, but Snape did none of that. Instead, he offered him a book to read and help him, walking him through the steps of clearing his mind and shielding his thoughts.

Harry's method of protecting his mind was not like Snape's, emptying his mind completely. Another method that Snape taught him was making a shield around his mind with imagery, like a wall or a mirror. Strangely enough, Harry chose a longsword and old-fashioned chainmail to shield his mind in. It was not typical, but it suited him. Every night, Harry put the shield in place and felt safe.

When the Azkaban prison break occurred in early February, Harry simply closed his eyes. He knew that Voldemort had made the first great tactical move of the war. The Ministry's response was simple: blame it all on Sirius Black, the only man to escape from the prison island, and pretend that 'He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named' was not back. Again, Airmed's advice came to be of use: being patient and close-mouthed about this kept him out of trouble.

As winter melted away into spring, Harry thought less and less of Airmed and Voldemort. They were always on the brink of his thoughts, but they were no longer the great force that dominated them. Airmed's advice was sound, and he remembered it. Voldemort, on the other hand, was being unusually quiet. He had done nothing much out of the ordinary, instead letting the smear campaign of the Minister do its work for him.

Harry found himself drifting away from Ron and Hermione, and was drawn, of all people, to talk to Neville and the first year Euan Abercrombie. They all had something in common: Airmed's transient stay at Hogwarts had affected them all in one way or another. For Harry, she had taught him lessons about coping with the strange behaviors and events around him without losing his mind by her own example. For Neville, she was a reminder of his line's legacy, and the hope that one day he would go back to the home of his ancestors. For Euan, she was his protector, his big sister surrogate. Harry and Neville stepped into that position now. They were the ones to sit with Euan when he would cry by the fireplace, the ones to comfort him from the nightmares that Airmed was never coming back to see him again.

The talking mirrors that Sirius and Remus had given him were the greatest help in surviving the rest of the school year. Although they could not tell him about Order business, all three of them talked about things to distract them all from the gravity of their situations. Sirius and Remus broke their promise for the better and began to teach Harry rudimentary Animagus skills early. It was akin to Occlumency, in that he had to clear his mind and meditate on what his animal form could be. Sirius had begun to make the potion at Grimmauld Place that would unlock Harry's form and allow him to begin transforming; it would be spelled under stasis until Harry was ready to take it.

This last year also saw Harry in the library more and more. In and amongst his homework assignments, he looked for anything on prophecies, on Seers, and on how to find out about the contents of prophecies. Apparently, the only people that could know about the full contents of a prophecy were the person giving it and any witnesses. But until Harry knew who had given the prophecy about him, and if there even was one in the first place, his research did not take him far.

With the increase of his library use, the quality of Harry's assignments began to improve. He purposefully approached several Ravenclaws not in the DA and asked them about techniques on how to better his work. The first time he asked them, all of their jaws dropped to the floor. Why was the Boy-Who-Lived asking for help on homework? It was completely out of character for him, but they were quite willing to help out.

May was quiet. Harry studied for his OWLs. His scar had not hurt all year, and for that, he begrudgingly thanked Snape and his 'remedial Potions' lessons, the code that Dumbledore had forced them both to use. He ignored Ginny's continual coquettish behavior, Ron's constant surliness, and Hermione's reborn love of nagging. Dumbledore was ignoring him still, telling him nothing.

The end of his fifth year came and went with nothing extraordinary occurring. He returned to the Dursleys for a week, and then transferred himself back to Grimmauld Place. There, it was the same as always. Molly Weasley smothered him with motherly attention, Dumbledore ignored him and his inquiries, and his 'friends' continued to behave strangely. He and Neville kept up a correspondence during the long summer.

In between Animagus lessons, re-reading his texts, trying his best to speak civilly with Ron and Hermione, and talking with Remus and Sirius, Harry worked out. He missed the routine of the DA, the rhythm of having a scheduled time to vent. He still had the quarterstaff from Airmed's one-time dueling club, and so took up running again. Every early morning, with an Order member to watch out for him, he ran around the neighborhood carrying the quarterstaff in his arms before doing the push-ups and sit-ups like she showed him how. He also added in the chin-ups that he had seen her do. He needed something to vent what he had been feeling, and he refused to sulk in his room like last summer.

Fred and George were another great distraction for him. Despite their mother's irate response at their announcement, they had finally completed their dream of opening a joke shop in Diagon Alley: Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes. From the start, it was monstrously successful with all ages but especially among students and young adults. At a time when everyone was constantly worried and concerned (more and more people were beginning to distrust the Ministry and Dumbledore both, the Ministry for their apparent lack of action in regards to the growing violence, and Dumbledore for his lack of credibility due to the Daily Prophet's smear campaign), a little levity and laughter was necessary at times. It was the greatest investment Harry ever could have made.

However, the joke shop was not well received by the Weasley matriarch. When Molly found out about it, she blew a gasket. Grimmauld Place was filled with blistering shouts and furious silence as she demanded that they sell the shop and undergo training for a professional and respectable occupation. Gred and Forge put up with it for all of one hour before packing their things and leaving. They lived now in a flat above their shop, an open invitation for only Bill, Charlie, Remus, Sirius, and Harry to come and visit them.

Around the beginning of August, the OWLs results came in: surprisingly, Harry had exceeded well beyond his own expectations. With 'Exceeds Expectations' in Charms and Herbology, 'Outstanding' in Defense, Potions, Transfiguration, and Care of Magical Creatures, and 'Acceptable' in Divinations, Astronomy, and History, he had gotten an OWL in every subject. That was better than Ron, who had failed History, Divinations, and Astronomy. Hermione, of course, got 'Outstanding' in every thing but Defense, Potions, and Transfiguration. She was furious to behold when she found out that Harry had gotten better marks than she did.

Harry simply let her rant. She had to deal with it, but he personally enjoyed the fruits of his labor. The OWLs were an ordeal, sure, but the newfound studying habits and increased attention to homework had served him well. He certainly was not going to change his habits when he saw the well-deserved fruits of that labor, just because he was doing better than her in some subjects.

September came around, and Harry was almost sent back into despondency when he saw Umbridge's face at the staff table. At the behest of the Ministry, the toad-woman was staying on staff as Inquisitor. The new Defense teacher was Professor Thomas Burris, a strict-looking African-American man that could have easily been the brother of Airmed's master. It was unknown if he was a Ministry toady, but he certainly did not act like one. In all of his classes, Professor Burris favored no house above another. He seemed frustrated by the gag order on his studies, since he was forced to continue with the Slinkhard text from last year. However, any one that wanted to borrow from his prodigious collection of texts for 'independent study' was welcome to.

For the most part, this summer and autumn were unusually quiet. That was a good sign. Voldemort made no big moves, but it was most likely the deep breath before the plunge. It was like a chess game: aligning his pieces before making his big move. While the Minister was most likely going to be caught with his pants down, Harry wanted to be ready. But it was hard: he had very few people on his side.

"Hey, Harry!" A roll was tossed at his head. Dean was waving his hand in his face. "You spaced out there for a moment… You okay?"

"Of course he's okay!" Ron, his mouth full of food, answered the question instead of him. Harry simply nodded his head and turned back to his interrupted train of thought.

Dean and Seamus had joined the DA after the break-in of Azkaban, along with almost twenty others. Their numbers were only growing from that point: now there were over seventy members of Dumbledore's Army. The strangest occurrence was the joining of Slytherins.

Draco Malfoy himself had approached Harry with seven Slytherins after the OWLs exams, all of them not wanting to support Voldemort or his cause. He made an argument after the OWLs: his father was forcing him to get the Dark Mark by the end of the summer. The same was occurring with the fathers or mothers of Blaise Zabini, Theo Nott, Crabbe, Goyle, Pansy Parkinson, Tracey Davis, and Daphne Greengrass. As the chosen leader, Draco begged Harry to talk to Sirius, as the Head of the Noble and Ancient House of Black, to grant his friends and him asylum once they disowned themselves from their families. How Draco knew about Sirius, he never did say, only that he would never turn in a family member to the 'pathetic excuse of a government'.

When Harry approached Sirius with this, he was flabbergasted to say the least. As the Head of the Black Family, he had the power to grant Draco's request but he was not sure if he wanted to. Only when Harry invited the eight Slytherins for a meet with Sirius for them to plead their case to him directly did Sirius grant the asylum request. For once, Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy were not enemies. They were not friends, but they were not enemies. For now, they were allies.

Hermione and Ron nearly flipped out when they saw the Slytherins enter the Room of Requirement on the last meeting of the DA: they demanded that they leave. Harry was the one to stand up to his 'friends' in front of everyone. Calmly and quietly, he told Hermione and Ron that if they were going to stand up to Voldemort, then they had to do it together. The Slytherins had agreed to the swearing of the oath in front of the group. There could be no disunity among them, or they would fall. He offered everyone that disagreed with him the chance to leave. None of them did. But that was not too concerning right now. Harry just wanted to enjoy the feast.

Around the time that the courses shifted, everyone in the Great Hall felt the floor vibrate. The glass windows began to tremble and the tables shook. It was like the whole of Hogwarts was vibrating. Questioning murmurs filled the air, when the doors peeled open.

Almost three hundred yelling people flooded into the hall all mish-mash. The sound of baying hounds filled the air as Airmed, dressed in blood stained armor, shouted, "Get away from the door!" With a wave of her hand, she lifted the Hogwarts students out of the way before turning back to the door. A small group of Knights were huddled together and running towards the dais as Airmed, her master, and fifteen other Knights drew their bows and began to shoot into the Entrance Hall.

"Airmed! Niamh! The wards!" One man cried out before a bolt of black lightning crashed into him. As five others came to take her place, Airmed and a man ran to the centre of the hall. Chanting in Manx and drawing symbols on the floor with their own blood, they joined hands and made the vibrating stop.

Not one of the students present moved from their positions against the wall as they saw the disaster unfold. At a closer look, the men and women that had rushed into the hall were wearing clothes singed and dirty from fires. There were men, women, and older children. Some were dressed in chainmail armor, others in leather battle armor, and others still in tunics and pants. All of them had weapons in their hands that were blood stained and slick.

Airmed rushed to the huddle of the Knights now gathered by the stairs of the Head Table, talking rapidly in Gaelic at all of the individuals. After a few minutes of discussion, Airmed placed a fisted hand over her heart and turned to face Dumbledore.

"I call upon your debt to our people, Albus Pervical Wulfric Brian Dumbledore. My people need shelter, food, and safe reassurance that your Ministry will not come after us for staying here." The tone of her voice left no room for negotiations. Add in the fact that she looked like hell with bloodstains on her armor, a vicious-looking blood trail on her quilted pants, and a naked sword in hand, who would be stupid enough to question her?

"It is granted, Knight of Mann." A sigh of relief escaped from Airmed as she pushed her sanguine coif from her head and tried to wipe the blood off her chainmail-covered hands. Around her upper arm, there was a black and red armband; Harry guess that it was to replace the cloak that she wore last year. Umbridge was doing an impressive fish imitation, with her mouth opening and closing, but she could not speak from shock.

Airmed ignored the Inquisitor completely, turning back to the mass of people that were just hauled into the hall. "Blue robes and healers, attend to the wounded. Everyone is staying here until we can return to Mann. Ravens, Dragon Squad, Wolf Squad, Griffin Squad, and red robes, keep an eye open and be aware of the Cwn Annwn. The wards will hold, but stay away from the shadows." With her people going into action as soon as she finished talking, Airmed turned back to Dumbledore. "Have you done what I asked since our last meeting?"

Dumbledore shook his head, looking like a disappointed grandfather. "He does not need to know it yet, Sir Wolfshead. He's not ready. Let him be a child for a little longer."

Airmed's jaw clenched, and so did her grip on her sword. "You mean to tell me that Harry still doesn't know yet? It's been a year, Dumbledore! What are you waiting for? There is no time to waste anymore! Childhood is the price and a casualty of war, you doddering old fool! It cannot be held above survival!" She whipped her arm in Harry's direction. "Does he even know about it?"

"No, it was destroyed this spring. Neither he nor Voldemort know about its contents." The red fury in Airmed's eye and face was so blatant, that she grabbed onto his beard and began to swear at him in a pidgin of Manx and Gaelic.

"Wolfshead! Enough! Control yourself!" Harry saw a new man walk up to Airmed, a quarterstaff in hand. From what he knew from Hermione's little research, the man holding on Airmed's shoulder was a red robe or battle mage. His tabard was dark red with dull gold embroidery in the design of a giant hourglass on his torso. His brown eyes were clear, and his white hair was tied off in the remnants of a braid. He was not stocky like Airmed, but his presence resonated with great power in Harry's gut. "That will be addressed at a later time, at Council. But first, let us lick our wounds and recover." He grabbed her arm, speaking in rapid Manx. Before he was finished, she dropped her sword and began to call out a name.

"Marcus! Marcus!" She was checking the bodies of the fallen and injured, growing frantic and panicked. Her eye was passing over every body, searching for the figure. In front of where Harry and Ron were crowding to the wall, a tanned blue-eyed man sprawled on the ground was trying to raise his hand to get her attention. Harry saw the seven arrows sticking out of his body and the blood coming out of his mouth, the way he was panting to get some breath in, and the unbridled grimace on his face. Over top of a similar black and red armband like what Airmed wore, was the same wolf's head that Airmed displayed proudly.

"Airmed! Here!" Harry's call stunned most of the students out of inaction. He motioned to her to come quickly as she ran over to the fallen man. Several blue robes followed Airmed as she sprinted the breadth of the hall and fell to her knees next to the man.

She placed her hands on his shoulders and began to whisper. "No, no, no!" She cradled the man in his arms, rocking back and forward on her heels, being careful of the arrows in his body. "Not you, not you, **deartháir**…"

The man under her arms grabbed her tabard and began to speak to her in raspy Gaelic. It was like he was asking her questions, and all she could do was shake or nod her head. Harry knelt next to the man, not knowing what else to do. The last time he had watched someone die was Cedric two years ago. It had carved at his heart and made him feel helpless, and he had barely known Cedric before his death. What Airmed was feeling like now, he could only imagine.

One of the blue robes summoned golden light into her hands and examined the man in front of her, only to shake her head. "No, Sorcha! He can't… Please, do something!" Tears fell from her eye, frightening the students that knew her and saw it all.

Using most of his strength, the man in her arms pulled himself closer to her ears. All Harry could make out was '**deifiúr**'; the rest was broken Gaelic. Whatever it was, it was not what she wanted to hear. Airmed began to moan, crying "no" over and over, and shaking her head. The blue-eyed man took a few shaky breaths, before gasping his last and going limp in her arms, a small smile hidden in the corner of his mouth.

Harry had never seen Airmed like this. As she held onto the dead man, she began to hyperventilate, keening back and yelling to the dead night sky. She screamed, "Why, why? Why him? We did everything you ever asked of us! Why did you take him from me? WHAT DID WE DO TO DESERVE THIS?"

The hall was quiet, silent as the proverbial grave, except for her wailing. The tears running down the one side of her face streaked the blood and dirt, but she did not care. Harry simply backed away, knowing to leave her space. Airmed's wails of furious grief cut through the hearts of everyone present. She could not stop herself from railing against the world; all the while, she was rocking the man in her arms like a little child.

The red robe that had just talked to Airmed motioned to her master. Without a word, the giant black-skinned man began to walk over to Airmed's shaking form without her noticing. Taking a better grip on his massive war hammer, her master raised the butt of the handle and hit her in the back of the head. Airmed collapsed to the floor on top of the man in her arms, the wailing abruptly stopped.

The Hogwarts students watched as the black man bowed his head to hide his own tears. At this point, Harry moved back towards Airmed, not paying any attention to Ron's whispers. Looking up at the man in front of Airmed, he walked forward and began to move Airmed's body off of the dead man and laid her on the floor next to him. Harry reached to where her sword had dropped from her hands and re-sheathed it by her side. He began to move from her to others, trying his best to make them as comfortable as he could.

That got a few more students moving. Neville walked over to the blue-robes, shedding his cloak and rolling up his sleeves, and asked them what else had to be done. Katie Bell and a few of the Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws began to assist him. Blaise Zabini began to hand out water and food from the tables, and soon other DA Slytherins joined in beside several Gryffindors. Even Draco Malfoy, Prince of the Slytherins, was ripping his cloak to wipe away blood from a young child's face while murmuring soft words to her. It did not matter what House the students were from, for they were united in one cause, for once. Most of the others, however, stayed against the wall for they were unsure of what to do.

Dumbledore stood from the staff table, clapping his hands to get the attention of all his students. "All Hogwarts staff and students not assisting will retire to their dormitories for the rest of the evening. An announcement will be given tomorrow morning. Now, pip-pip! Off to bed!" For all that his message was light-hearted, the glint in the elderly headmaster's eyes left no room for argument. The teachers stood by the doors to guide the students out of the hall; some were obviously frightened about walking through the halls by themselves. Those helping out stayed, pulling out their wands to continue helping.

Harry was transfiguring the cutlery into blankets when Umbridge found her voice again. "Dumbledore, what is the meaning of this?"

The white-haired man looked around, walking forward to the staff table. "Madam Umbridge, I presume?" He waited for her to nod. "I am Sir Conn Elderson, Commander of the Royal Army of Mann, red robe, and Headmaster of the Aurorian Academy. I have called upon the debt owed to my people by Albus Dumbledore while our home is occupied."

"What do you mean, occupied?" Umbridge had moved on from her fish impression into her angry cat expression. Her hair was standing on end, her claws drawn out, and her eyes were wide and dilated.

Conn cocked an eyebrow at the woman in the pink sweater. "I am sure Sir Wolfshead informed you last year about the status of our country, madam. Last week has been a low blow for us: the dark forces have overtaken our Isle. We were lucky to escape with the numbers that we have. Hogwarts is the only safe place for us now, until we can reclaim our home." He bowed slightly from his waist. "I have the privilege of protecting our rulers in that time."

The small group in front of the dais parted to reveal two people. "Show your respect to His Majesty King Nuada Eaglewing: King of Mann and of the Isle; grey-and-red robe; descendant of Nuada Argetlam, first king of the Tuatha de Danaan; bearer of the Sword and Spear of Innisfail; joint-commander-in-chief of the Manx Armed Forces; he that has led over one hundred successful campaigns against the Darkness; friend of the Sidhe Courts; rune-master and curse-breaker; breaker of the curse on dragons and wyverns. Also, show your respect to Her Majesty Queen Ethne Druidson: Queen of Mann and of the Isle; blue-and-green robe; descendant of Brigid, guardian of flame and forge and inspiration; High Priestess and Grand Master of the Order of the Dragon; bard and guardian of the history of Mann; keeper of the sacred knowledge and of the Cauldron of Innisfail; master healer; friend of the Sidhe Courts; she that is beloved of the griffins, the dryads, and the elves; joint-commander-in-chief of the Manx Armed Forces."

As one, all of the Manxmen able to stand placed a fisted hand over their hearts and bowed from the waist. At the sight of the two Manx leaders, Harry almost wanted to hide. They were resplendent in raw natural power, almost visibly glowing in it. Unlike Dumbledore that shone with the strength of his magic, it was like this man and woman were on fire with it. Airmed had told them so long ago that the rulers of Mann were tied to the magic of their land. Until this moment, he did not believe her.

King Nuada looked to be about forty years old. Grey peppered his dark brown hair and beard. From afar, Harry could just make out storm grey eyes, wrinkles around his mouth and eyes from frowning and smiling, and an expressive mouth. He wore the chainmail like it was a shirt and pants: for him, this might be what he normally wore. A gray tabard hung snugly against the mail, decorated with a gold eagle similar to the one on the Ravenclaw banner. In his hands were two short swords, slick with crimson red blood that he was now cleaning off. There was a thin gold circlet around his head in place of an ornate crown.

Queen Ethne was no less beautiful. Like her husband, her plain and practical features did nothing to hide the forest green eyes that radiated calm, the expressive mouth similar to her husband, white-blonde hair done in a tight braid, or the bladed quarterstaff that Harry had seen Airmed wield. Like her husband, she too wore the chainmail, but there seemed to be a sense of weary obligation in wearing it; her tabard was green-gray with a silver design: three spirals joined at the centre. She shoved the coif from her head and glanced around. With a gentle eye, she looked at the soldiers and people around her before joining head first in the fray. Harry saw out of the corner of his eye that her magic was ivory white as she focused on broken bones and head lacerations. The queen was a blue robe, then: a healer. He also saw that the queen bore the same tattoo on her hand as Airmed did: a dragon wrapped around her right wrist and hand. Did this mean that the two of them knew each other more than liege lord and vassal?

Harry's breath caught in his throat when he saw Professors McGonagall, Flitwick, and Snape all walk towards the monarchs and kneel on one knee before them. King Nuada looked at them and smiled widely.

"Arise, Sir Morgana Lionsbeard. Arise, Severus Snape, cara Mann. Arise, Sir Faelchu Quicksilver." At each of them, both the King and Queen helped them to their feet and embraced them as friends. "Be welcome, Knights of Mann, back to your family. Be known to us, **cara Mann**."

Some of the older Knights greeted Professors McGonagall and Flitwick with weary smiles or nods as they cleaned weapons or helped the blue robes. They got to work relieving the students from transfiguring items into blankets and water goblets. Snape got to work dispensing potions to whoever required them.

Harry shook his head and turned back to the family of three in front of him. The husband was watching his sleeping wife, her head in his lap. Their young son was cradling a sprained wrist with no words or murmurs of pain. At probably nine years old, he was already more inured to pain than most adults. Harry was no blue robe or healer, so he tied the arm into a splint using blankets and silverware. The boy nodded his head and turned back to his father, holding onto the small axe in his good hand, as they huddled together. Without words, Harry transfigured another blanket and gave it to the father. Manx stoicism at its finest… was this bred in everyone, or taught?

Conn turned to Airmed's master, a look of mournful sorrow crossing his face. "Donnchadh, my friend. Take Airmed to the infirmary, and then help coordinate with the blue robes to transport the critically injured. In two days, we will burn the dead."

"As you will, Conn." For all that the man Donnchadh was a formidable-looking giant, he gathered Airmed up in his arms like a father carrying his daughter. Another man, a red robe, came and walked beside Donnchadh holding onto Airmed's dangling hand. Others around them began to separate the living from the wounded and the dead.

Conn turned back to Dumbledore, completely ignoring Umbridge's attempts at interjecting into their conversation in order to interrogate the Manx headmaster. "How goes the fight against Voldemort, old friend?"

"There is no fight, Mr. Elderson." Umbridge finally butted in successfully. "Why would there be a need? No one is attacking us! The story that He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named is back is a lie!" Dumbledore, for once, spoke nothing. "The only ones to disturb the peace are you and your so-called 'Knights'!"

Conn looked incredulous and borderline-livid, and so did King Nuada. However, both of them spoke nothing and inquired no further into the matter. "Albus, is it possible to send for some food for my people? We do not wish to inconvenience the house elves, but I know that many of us are tired and hungry."

"Of course, Conn." Professors McGonagall and Flitwick- Harry corrected himself, Sirs Lionsbeard and Quicksilver beat the house elves to the punch. The house tables already pushed aside, what remained of the people of Mann soon huddled in groups sharing bowls of hot soup and bread. Most of the infants and young children were already asleep in their parents' laps. Most of the teenagers and adults had a weapon either near them or in hand. Some, wearing similar uniforms to Airmed, sat against the wall to sink into catnaps so that they were ready to defend their countrymen.

Dumbledore, Umbridge, and Snape left the hall soon after, most likely to debrief the rest of the staff before tomorrow's mass announcement. Harry was about to leave when Conn Elderson turned and walked in his direction. "Harry Potter. I thought that you knew that listening in on others' conversations was held in bad taste." The older mage waited in front of him as Harry stood from the ground. Before turning to the mage, Harry nodded his head to the family he was helping to settle.

"I wanted answers, sir." That reason sounded petulant now that he said it out loud. "Besides, it's not like you were trying to keep your conversation a secret."

"Those answers couldn't wait until the morning announcement?" Harry washed his bloody hands, thinking of his answers.

"I was seeking answers about Airmed- Sir Wolfshead, I mean. I wanted to learn how she became what she is." Harry made himself stare Conn in the eye, ensuring that his hard-earned Occlumency shield was up and steady. The deep cinnamon brown eyes staring back at him provided no comfort.

"Did you find what you were seeking?"

"No." Conn sat on the table, letting his head roll back for a moment. Harry wanted to ask everything on his mind, but he saw that this man was exhausted, so he settled for only one. "Who was the man she was crying over?"

Conn was silent for a while, as if weighing out all of the options of continuing this conversation. "You seek answers about Airmed Wolfshead? Come find me after the funerals two days from now; I will most likely be by the lake. There, I will tell you all that you wish to know."

Harry began to walk away, but Conn called to him. "Harry? The man she was crying over was her only remaining brother." With that, he nodded off and fell to Morpheus' call.


	13. My Grief Lies All Within

Her eyelids were heavy, her arms weighed down by something. The back of her head was throbbing. She could still feel the chainmail on her torso on top of her gambeson; she also felt the pain in her arms and hands. She felt the lack of her belt and shoes: someone had taken them off before leaving her here to rest and recover. Those were all good signs: it meant that she was still alive.

Airmed groaned against the dim light coming from the infirmary's lamps as she forced her eyes open. There was no sun shining through the open windows: she had either slept the entire day away, or had slept very little. She was more inclined to the former, for she felt that she was at full strength and ready to fight again. Looking with blurred vision at her chest, she saw her husband lying on her arm.

He was so exhausted from what had happened over the last few days. His short golden-brown hair was tousled from his sleep, and there was dried blood on his cheek. She tried her best not to disturb him as she tried to re-position herself slightly. But when he felt her move, he rubbed his eyes and stared at her, a hidden smile for her.

She thanked the gods daily since last Yuletide when they exchanged their vows at their hand-fasting ceremony. Sir Niamh Firebird, the other half of her soul, was twenty years old, one year her senior. He was a red-robe by way of training, but he had specialized in runic magic and wards instead of offensive/defensive battle magic. They had watched out for each other as they grew up, knowing that they were going to be Knights.

He was the leader of the king's personal warders. The palace was decked out with his work to protect it from fires, destruction, or ruin. It took strong magic to perform such spells, but he was always willing to do what was asked of him. With his team, they were deadly in battle and off the field as well. Although she had the higher rank, he reported directly to Donnchadh.

Niamh had trained with Donnchadh in battle magics, but his specialty was his ability to fight with fire magic. Fire, he told her once when they were first getting to know each other, was the same to him as rain was for her. It was a destroyer, but it gave way to new opportunities. Burning hot and bright enough, it could do anything from create glass from sand, to burn down a forest. From the ashes of its rampage, new life was always sure to follow. Because of this specialty, he was also the leader of the Dragon Squad.

None of their parents were still alive to see them wed. However, their surrogate family consisting of their brother and sister Knights, their teachers and mentors, and whatever living blood family was left were in attendance. Even the King and Queen made an appearance, however brief, in order to congratulate them. For all that, it was a simple ceremony. Although their nuptials were brief, she was elated to have lived long enough to have them.

His golden hawk eyes stared at her as he watched her come to and shake off the blurry vision. "Airmed? Airmed, love? You've slept for a day now. It's time to wake." He shook her shoulder slightly, trying to get her to rouse quicker.

When Niamh spoke her name, it brought Airmed back to the present from her distant musings. She began to replay yesterday's events in her mind, particularly of when they had arrived at their new sanctuary of Hogwarts. Marcus was dead, among many others. He had died in her arms. She was the last of her generation of Wolfshead: she had nieces and nephews by her older siblings, but they were not here right now. Some of them were still in school or training, and the majority of the rest were already knighted and serving to guard the rest of their people. But she was alone now…

Like a little child crying at the loss of something precious, Airmed curled up on her uninjured side and held onto Niamh's hand for dear life as she began to cry. The sobs were silent, but the tears were real enough as they flooded her eye.

She had grown up with Marcus, had gone to the Academy with him. He was her twin, the other half of her. He, she, and Niamh had watched out for each other in their early adventures and lessons. When one of them got into a scrape, the other two were there to get them out of trouble.

When they were five years old, they all swore a pact in blood and magic to protect each other and watch each other's backs. A childhood promise, but it was one that kept them alive until now. It had been fourteen years since that day, and all three of them had done just that. Without sacrificing anything to the gods, they had risen through the ranks and became the best Knights and mages that they could in order to protect each other, and by association everyone that came under their command.

At the age of thirteen, Airmed underwent the black robe trials and emerged successfully. That in and of itself proved to be a potent morale-booster for their friends and the troops. What was unprecedented was that Marcus underwent them as well, and emerged with his black robe marks same as she. There had been very few cases of twin black robes, but it appeared that Airmed's life was the epitome of unprecedented occurrences.

She was knighted first, and then two years Marcus and Niamh joined her in the ranks. Many victories on behalf of the Isle of Man were won because of them, but now he was gone, one third of the triad destroyed. Tomorrow in high fashion, he would go on his final journey. He would join their mother and father, their brothers and sisters, and the rest of their kin under the embrace of Mannanan mac Lir.

Airmed wept for what felt like an eternity, purging away the emotions eating away at her heart. Niamh simply sat next to her, holding her hand and whispering nonsensical things to help her calm down. Airmed knew that she was supposed to be strong for her people, and that she was supposed to be a pillar of strength for others to lean on. But she was tired of being strong. She was tired of this war, tired of losing everyone and everything that was dear to her.

Yesterday's events had cemented Airmed's theory. Her life was the balance, a fulcrum. Whatever good things she had been blessed with were always tempered with people dear to her being taken from her too soon. Her parents and her oldest sister Nuala died when she was betrothed to Niamh and had finished the first set of trials at the Academy. Cian and Saoirse died when she had refined her skills as a shape-shifter. Padraic and Euan died, and she had lost her eye, when she became a Knight and a black robe. Drustan died when she obtained her mark as a priestess. Now Marcus was dead, dead because of her marriage. She could not remember a time when she had a single moment of happiness that was untouched by sorrow.

Gods, she was tired! They all were. She had run on less energy before and had been able to fight, but these last ten months had been draining on everyone. They had arranged the gradual evacuation of everyone on the Isle to Ireland. Their alliances had allowed them to do this. If Ireland's **Aireacht na Draíochta, **their Minister of Magic,had been less than accommodating, the casualty tolls would have been far greater. Those here in Hogwarts now was only the first company of the Royal Army and their family members.

Now, at a time when she should be resting, the dam of her emotions was let loose. All the tears, the agony… all was rushing to the forefront and spilling out. Airmed had barely cried at the funerals of her family, preserving her stoic front. However, her heart had bore those lesions for a long time. Now, at last, they could begin to heal. But, gods! It hurt so much!

When she felt herself finishing the sobs, she wiped her palm over her face to wipe away the saltwater and looked to her husband. "How many of our men are dead, Niamh?"

"Fifteen all told, **mo ghrá.** The soldiers guarding the palace were the hardest hit, but it was to be expected. Ten non-magic users and five mages were killed, but only thirty or so were injured. The nine most grievous are resting now." Niamh reached forward and gently brushed away Airmed's tears with the pad of his thumb. "But three hundred of us made it, with the other five thousand in hiding in Ireland. We will survive this, as we always have." He knew that it was little comfort: all of them were growing weary of simply surviving this war.

Simply surviving… what a paradox. One did not survive without sacrifice. Every Manx man and woman had given up something to 'simply survive': sons and daughters, fathers and mothers… family and friends. Damn it, simple survival was no longer a viable option.

Niamh saw the rumination on his wife's face, and began to speak again. "On a higher note, now that the dragons are free from the wards of the darkness, they are guarding Hogwarts and the grounds with the griffins. I doubt that any of the students last night attributed the shaking in that Great Hall of theirs to dragons and griffins landing on the cliff sides. The wyverns are with the rest of our people in Ireland. The Seelie and Unseelie Courts will be arriving here within the next three weeks, for a gathering of the Council at the full moon." That got a small smile from her, but only for a moment as she turned back to darker thoughts.

"I saw _her_ again, Niamh. She was leading the Cwn Annwn and dullahans in front of the warlocks, with that grin on her face. She hasn't changed at all in seven years, not since that day. I curse the day that I met her all those years ago." Airmed's eye turned dark, but Niamh took hold of the side of her face.

"She made her choice, **mo ghrá**. And it will be her downfall when you greet each other on the field of battle, because she failed to understand the consequences of her actions. She has not been your friend since she removed your eye, my love." He leaned forward and kissed her on the forehead. "Now, you and I both need a wash."

Grimacing, she sat up in the bed, looking around at the filled beds. Nine others were critically injured, but Sorcha was watching over them. "Let us both get out of this armour first, and have a look at our injuries."

They untied the knots of the stifling chainmail hauberks until they were in the thin under-tunics and quilted breeches. Airmed sighed and grimaced as Niamh began to sew up her still-open arm injury. Someone nearly sliced off her left hand in the assault of the palace, but had only ended up making a deep laceration on the top of her wrist. It was awkward, to say the least, to access with her chainmail still on. That, with bruised ribs and various smaller cuts from dueling, made her lucky that she was not more severely injured.

When Niamh was finished, he brought her left hand closer to him, rubbing the claddagh ring sitting proudly on her ring finger. Airmed was not going to be alone, not if he had anything to say or do about it. She was not going to bear this heavy burden alone.

He let her fill up the basin sitting on the bedside table with warm soapy water. Coming closer, he sat still as she took off his under-tunic and began to wash away the blood and the dirt from his face and hands. Later, it would be easier to completely clean up in a bath, but this would suffice for now.

Airmed nearly purred at the feel of the hot water on her bare back, the luxurious feel of soap against her skin. Niamh got a little closer and kissed her collarbone, a slight smile on his face as his beard tickled her skin. He knew all of her sweet spots: all of the places that made all of the concerns of this world disappear with a simple touch.

A knock on the infirmary door caused both of them reach for their weapons, interrupting the tender moment between wife and husband. However, it was no enemy; Hogwarts was still safe. Conn, Donnchadh, and their Majesties had come in to check on their wounded men, working their way up the rows of beds as they talked to those injured and assured themselves of the status of their healings. Airmed and Niamh were the last, giving them time to slip back into their tunics.

"Captain. Captain." King Nuada nodded to them both, using one of their more popular titles. "What is our next move?" When neither answered right away, his face began to turn crimson with rage. "We must not be caught unprepared for the next engagement. I will not sacrifice any more of my people!" His fist pounded the wall, disturbing everyone with the power behind it.

Airmed knew of the legendary temper of King Nuada Eaglewing. It was documented that his line was descended from the Celtic warrior god Nuada Argetlam, the first king of the Tuatha de Danaan. He was a brilliant warrior and the foremost grey-and-red robe of their people, known for his fearless tactics and his combined use of magic and strength. He never asked anything of his men that he would not do himself, so he often trained with his men when matters of government allowed him time, in lieu of leading the charge into battle. Thus far, she was lucky to not be on the receiving end of that temper, but she was not dead yet.

"Hush, my love." Queen Ethne placed a gentle hand on his arm. Like her husband, the Druidson line had a veritable claim of lineage from the Celtic goddess Brigid. Instead of temper, Brigid was known more for creation and inspiration. Augmented with her education in the Academy, that made Queen Ethne a veritable battle strategist alongside her husband. "We have inherited this war from our fathers and grandfathers. Let us make sure that our children do not inherit it from us. Yelling at the leaders of our army is not going to get us closer to finishing this war." Her words calmed her husband down visibly, but the remnants of his rage clung to the air.

She turned her head to Airmed, placing a hand on the young Knight's shoulder. "You have lost your brother last night, my student. Later, we will mourn for him, for Marcus Wolfshead was a true warrior and mage of Mann. How many of your line are left, Captain Wolfshead?"

Airmed's eye grew dark as she returned her thoughts to Marcus and the rest of her deceased family. "My mother, Aithne Wolfshead, and my father, Ruadh Lionsbeard, bore eight children before perishing. My six older siblings all had children before their deaths. Many of them serve as Knights already, but they are with the rest of our people in Ireland. My youngest brother died before he was hand-fasted to his troth. My twin was married, and has three sons. None of them have any training to undergo the trials. I am the last Wolfshead of Aithne's line."

She looked at them all and nodded her head. Niamh looked at her with confusion in his eyes. "I know of the prophecy made at the beginning of the war." All six of them looked at each other with wide eyes, and it was Conn to break the silence.

_"The one-eyed wolf will rear its head/ and howl for loss of its dead./ Its friends have betrayed it,/ its family taken from it./It is the last of its kind._

_"It will travel to the land shrouded in darkness/ But no one will hear its plea./ No one understands its pain and bleakness,/ Save one with eyes of green._

_"With the green lightning, hand in hand,/ They'll banish the darkness from both lands/ But only if they understand/ The price to pay, the blood to shed,/ the ties to break."_

In typical Manx fashion, the prophecy was seen by one of the purple robes ninety years ago, near the beginning of the war. Employed by no one, they live in the palace and see into the future through various means. As a rule, they cannot simply say what will happen for fear that a future set in stone would destroy destinies and fates. Ergo, they were bound to speak in riddles.

Conn looked at Airmed, his concern stamped out clearly on his face when she did not see surprised at the prophecy. "How do you know of this? This prophecy was kept under lock and key until it could be interpreted by the chief purple robes."

Airmed resisted rolling her eyes at him, but the impulse was great. "Master Conn, give me some credit. You know that Ecca Brighteyes teaches divinatory skills to all students that enter the Academy, after they complete the first set of trials. His oldest sister Aislinn saw the prophecy, and he told me about it when I was five after the death of my parents and Nuala. He had told every Wolfshead to come under his tutelage the contents of the prophecy as well as his own personal interpretation." She held up a hand to them, to stop them from interrupting her. "Before you ask, he was the one to interpret his sister's prophecy, as he was the chief purple robe at the time of its telling.

"Ecca Brighteyes believed that the prophecy refers to the Wolfshead clan. We, after all, are the only clan on Mann with 'wolf' anywhere in our namesake. I, however, am the only one in the history of our clan that has become one-eyed." She stood up from the bed and rolled her shoulders, turning away from the peering eyes.

Niamh launched himself from the bed to look at her eyes, hurt riddled on his face. "Airmed, you have carried this burden all this time?"

"Marcus knew. Ecca told us both at the same time. We thought that he was joking at first." Airmed's chin quivered. Niamh took her into his arms, tears falling from his face.

"**Mo ghrá**… I told you, you are not alone in this." She hid her face in his tunic, trying her best not to shed more tears. It only hurt more.

Airmed stared out the window, looking out to the lake. Despite the lack of light, she could sense the presence of the boat-pyres lining the shore of the lake. Fifteen boats for fifteen dead Manxmen... the tears and wailing would be sonorous at tomorrow's sunset. It never got easier, sending away any of her kin.

Airmed turned back to the group standing behind her. "The time is upon us. The prophecy that determines the fate of our people and our home is coming into fruition." She looked at them all: her teachers, her liege lords, and her husband. Her eye was glowing with power, but weariness lay heavily on her. No more words needed to be spoken.

The end was coming.


	14. Done Was the Hero That Here Lies

By order of the Headmaster, all of the Hogwarts students gathered outside by the lake for the funeral of the Manx Knights two days after Halloween at sunset. Dinner would be served afterwards. Everyone was to wear the school uniforms, with strict adherence to neatness. Besides the staff, Professors Sprout and Snape were the only heads of houses watching out for all of the students. Professors McGonagall and Flitwick were both missing. Professor Burris had taken over the watch duty for the Gryffindors, his dark stare quieting all those around him.

Harry and Neville stood together away from a surly Ron and Hermione, silently watching the surface of the lake. Euan was standing in front of them, quietly sniffling. There was no sign yet of the Manxmen, but near the lake were fifteen boats lined with dry wood and evergreen branches. Every student had heard them being built by the lake yesterday. They must have some purpose in the funeral today. In front of the boats was a large pile of wood.

Euan wiped his hand across his face. "Harry, what's going on? Why was Airmed so sad?"

How do you explain a funeral to an innocent twelve-year-old? Harry had to think for a moment on what to say. Luckily, Neville crouched to his level and spoke quietly. "Euan, we are here to witness the passing of the fifteen brave men and women that helped to protect Airmed's people. They will pass today to the Land of Eternal Youth, where they can join their ancestors and be at peace."

"But why was Airmed sad?" Euan looked out at the lake. "Her screaming scared me that night." His voice quivered and Harry's heart wrenched at the sound. Airmed's screaming would scar him, as well.

"She was feeling loss, little swift one. The man that died in her arms was her brother. According to the blue robes that I talked to that night, Airmed's brother was a strong warrior and Knight, a good stalwart friend, and a beloved brother. Many cried later when the students left. He had saved many lives, and will be missed dearly by all that knew him." Neville rubbed the kid's hair and stood up, keeping a comforting hand on Euan's shoulder.

At that moment, a low drumbeat cut through the silence. Everyone was looking around at where the sound was coming from. That one drumbeat was followed by another, and then another. Someone in the crowd shouted to look at the castle doors. They were coming.

In precise military fashion, the soldiers of the Isle of Man walked in formation from the castle doors down to the shores of the lake. Everyone, down to the youngest child, walked at pace with the drumbeat. Those at the edges of the formation bore flaming torches. The soldiers were dressed in their various sets of armor and their family sigil, bearing weapons that gleamed dully in the fading sunlight. All of the students turned and watched as the soldiers came down the hill bearing on their shoulders seven biers. On each of the biers was a body, laying in death's solemn respite.

Behind the soldiers came the Knights. Oh, Harry's heart broke as he watched them come past him. Not a one of them had any emotion on their faces. They were like a vision out of a macabre medieval scene: each one of the Knights, man or woman, were dressed in dully-shining chainmail underneath clean tabards bearing their family symbols. There were a multitude of colors among the crowd as they carried eight biers on their shoulders. Again, not a one of them walked off pace of the solitary drumbeat.

Some of the students murmured as they saw Professors McGonagall and Flitwick walking amidst the Knights in chainmail and tabards, but the two professors effectively ignored them all. Professor McGonagall was helping to carry one of the biers, a stoic steely look on her face that belied her age. Bringing up the end of the procession, Harry heard several people around him gasp, Hermione included.

The King and Queen of Mann were walking behind the contingent of warriors, surrounded by ten Knights with a small white raven sewn on the shoulders of their black tabards. The King had a bandage around his wrist, but it was almost hidden under the hem of his spotless black tunic, devoid of any decoration. His black breeches were dull and clean. The blood was washed away from his face, replaced with an impassive look. In his other hand was a burning torch, its fire burning cleanly in the twilight air.

The Queen was no less impressive. She walked with her head high and looking towards the lake, not deviating to gaze at the people staring at her unabashedly. Her black dress, cinched at the waist with a white rope belt, was just barely brushing against the ground as she walked barefoot beside her husband. Behind her, several young girls carried a smaller bier of tools. Harry took note of what he saw, although he could not divine their purpose: a golden branch with miniature bells on the tips of each offshoot; a sheathed dagger; a small bottle of a golden liquid; a stone bowl with dried leaves; small pieces of tinder; a folded piece of blue-black fabric.

The last person to walk by them all was Sir Airmed Wolfshead. She was the one setting the pace of the drumbeat, her hand holding the drum that Hermione saw in her quarters last year and the other hand slapping against its taut skin. She was dressed in a black dress similar to the Queen. Her white hair was tied off her face, tucked into a severe bun. For once, her missing eye was covered by a plain piece of cloth and she was unarmed.

The procession wove its way through the horde of students, not a word spoken. Harry turned his attention towards the lake, where the biers were being unloaded into the boats one by one. The soldiers and Knights stood in front of the students, watching their beloved captain go to work.

Harry was standing at the front of the Gryffindor students with Neville and Euan, and as such could see what was happening in clear detail. Airmed placed her drum in the hands of one of the young girls, her face showing nothing. The king proffered the torch in his hand toward her. Using a small piece of wood from the bier, Airmed lit the wood before lighting the leaves momentarily. Smoke curled from the bowl as Airmed left it alone for the time being.

Taking the bell branch in her hand, Airmed walked in a clockwise circle around the boats, the Queen, and the young girls three times, shaking the branch as she moved. The sounds that came from the bells were light and happy, failing to note the sobriety of the occasion. After that, she walked around the circle with the lit leaves, their smoke wafting into the chilly twilight air.

When she was finished with the last circle, Airmed placed the branch aside and walked around the circle to face east. As she gathered her voice, Harry could have sworn that her eye began to glow with her magic.

"Great hawk of knowledge, power of air, power of the east! Be with us in this circle, guardian of teaching and learning, of history and storytelling, be with us now! We welcome the power of Lugh Samildanach and of his Spear! May the light of your skills fill our bodies and mind as we do the will of your forefathers! We call! Be with us now!" Airmed's voice carried easily over the silent crowd as she faced the east and the Forbidden Forest.

The crowd of Manxmen rumbled in a reply. "Be with us now!" Having heard it, she turned clockwise again to the south, facing the lake.

"Powers of the south, great stag, lord of battle magic, power of light and fire, from the place where the sun never sets, be with us now! We welcome the power of Nuada Argetlam and his Sword! May the strength of our rage and anger be white-hot and straight, so our enemies may fear us and tremble in our wake! We call! Be with us now!" She paused for a moment. The echoes of her voice filled the air like the remnants of thunder after a lightning strike.

Again, there was a cry from the crowd. "Be with us now!"

"Powers of the west, great salmon, you who swim deeply into the dark oceans to learn her secrets, powers of water, of song, of poetry and arts, be with us now! We welcome the power of Brigid, **ban-fili** and keeper of the hidden knowledge of the bards and of the Lia Fail! We ask that your presence fill us with the inspiration and creativity that is your gift, passing your knowledge from generation to generation! We call! Be with us now!" As she turned, Harry could see the circle becoming alit with deep blue flames coming from her hands. This was serious magic that she was employing, and made the occasion all the more somber.

For a third time, the crowd called in response. "Be with us now!"

"Powers of the north, powers of the mighty bear, powers of earth and prosperity, come into this space and be with us now! We welcome the power of the Dagda, of his Ever-Filling Cauldron! Fill us with the spirit of hospitality as we welcome these strangers to our rite! We call! Be with us now!" Now, she was facing the crowd itself, looking at the Knights and students gathered here to witness the passings.

Every man, woman, and child present called back to her. "Be with us now!" Even some of the students from Hogwarts joined in the call. After all, they were witnesses as well to the funeral.

At last, Airmed turned to the middle of the circle, coming to stand in its direct centre by the pile of wood. "Great horse of sovereignty, mare of the land, ruler of kings and queens, be with us here in this circle. Bring us self-mastery and steadfast judgment, true seeing and balance. Be with us now! We combine the powers of the Spear, the Sword, the Cauldron, and the Stone into one! We call on the power of sovereignty of the Isle of Man to fill us all for this rite! We call! Be with us now!"

When the horde replied a fifth time, she clapped her hands three times. As if by her will and that alone, the circle of fire rose up and roared with raw power before settling low to the ground. The fire engulfed the pile of wood in the centre of the circle, coming to life and burning furiously.

Turning to the bier held by the young girls, Airmed picked up the phial of golden liquid and poured its contents on the fire. "We call upon the god Manannan mac Lir, he who is god of the sea, he who is the patron and guardian of the Isle of Man, he who ferries our honorable dead to the Land of Tir na nOg. May he accept our offering of mead and watch over us in this, our time of sorrow! In his name, we pray!"

The crowd of Manxmen thundered back in reply. "In his name!"

Placing the now-empty phial on the bier, Airmed looked back to the men and women gathered. Harry saw no trembling, no hesitation. Like with everything she had done in the past, her movements were practiced and steady. Again, it would appear that Airmed was intimately familiar with this ritual. "On this night, we become witnesses to the passing of our brothers and sisters. They who gave their lives for a cause that we all swore our life-blood to: to freedom, to peace. We honor them now by giving them the funeral of a true warrior."

She turned to the boats, walking by them one by one. Her hand reached out and touched the prow of every boat, naming the occupant for the last time. "Sir Cadha Hawkseye, Aife Stonearm, Ruadhan Stonearm, Sir Aislinn Dreamstare, Cian Dragonfire, Sir Alastair Lynxclaw, Sir Gwydion Lynxclaw, Sir Bleddyn Lynxclaw, Sir Ciarán Darkstar, Sir Marcus Wolfshead, Cormac Ravenswing, Avalon Strongtree, Boadicea Quickfoot, Sir Deirdre Brightsun, and Padraic Swiftwind… Our brothers- and sisters-in-arms have fulfilled their oaths. And now, we honor their lives and deaths." She looked to the Knights and soldiers around her, a single tear running down her face against her will. "Bring forth the tabards."

Fourteen Knights and soldiers walked forward from the crowd to the edge of the circle. Taking the dagger in her hand, Airmed literally cut a door into the flames and admitted them into the ritual space, closing it behind her when they had all entered. One by one, each of the admitted warriors took out a tabard with their family's symbol on it and placed it on the flames in the centre of the circle. The fabric rustled and hissed in the fire as they burned one by one. From the bier, Airmed shook out the piece of folded fabric to reveal a tabard with her family symbol on it, and tossed it into the flames as the last one.

"Manannan mac Lir." Airmed spoke as she looked into the flames; Harry thought that she seemed to be someplace else. "We ask that you accept the offerings of these tabards, the symbols of the Knights that gave their lives for your Isle. We pray to you to protect them in death as you have in life." She looked to the fourteen Knights that stood by the central fire. "Now we ask that you accept their bodies. Please, help them on this, their last journey."

One by one, she banished the five spirits that were summoned in reverse order. The reply from the crowd was simple: "Farewell, and thanks." The blue flames vanished slowly until there was nothing left save the charred marks on the soil.

The Knights and soldiers that had carried the bodies to the lake moved forward as a cohesive unit. When four men and women were at each boat, they pushed the boats onto the lake before walking back. One of them, a man dressed in a brown tabard with a phoenix emblazoned on it, paused by Airmed and handed her the bow in his hands and a single arrow.

The fourteen warriors and Airmed walked towards the fire still burning contentedly. As one, they nocked the arrow in their bows and dipped the tip into the fire. Walking into a straight line by the lake, they were joined by fifteen others standing a pace behind and to the right of them. At an unheard signal, thirty flaming arrows were raised into the air and released. The hiss and whistle of the arrows as they zoomed through the air was only dampened by the crackle of flames as the arrows hit the boats and turned them into floating pyres.

Harry revealed no emotion, but his mind was racing a mile a minute at this point. What he had just witnessed was something he had never seen before. He had never attended a funeral until now. The memorial service for Cedric last year was the closest thing, but it paled in comparison to this. There was something elegant about the ritual, elegant and morbid. Death seemed to be cherished by the Manxmen as much as life was. This was another question to be asked of Sir Elderson when he saw him after the funeral.

Harry turned his attention back to the crowd when he heard instruments begin to be played. A single fiddle began the call, a dirge so haunting that it brought tears to many eyes. Other fiddles joined in, harmonizing the tune with the accompaniment of flutes and drums. At last, a solitary voice began to sing before it, too, was joined by others. Airmed's voice was familiar to him, but he had never heard her sound like this before.

_Steel on steel  
__Break the blade that called him to his rest  
__And cast it to the deep  
__Light the pyre  
__Name the one whose shield is on his chest  
__And leave him to his sleep._

_The measure of a man  
__Stands or falls with what he leaves behind  
__Gather on the sand  
__Let your voices carry to the sky  
__Rise in light  
__Let the gods look down on this, and wonder…_

_Raise the ring  
__Cast the broken circle to the waves  
__And give the sea his due  
__Push the prow  
__Let him lead the final charge again  
__Where all will follow soon._

_The measure of a man  
__Stands or falls with what he leaves behind  
__Gather on the sand  
__Let your voices carry to the sky  
__Rise in light  
__Let the gods look down on this, and wonder…_

By now, Manx stoicism was being tossed aside in favor of tears and quiet weeping. Mothers and fathers of the children present were trying to be strong, but their reserve was broken. Tonight was for mourning. Tomorrow, the work would begin anew. By some silent signal, the crowd began to disperse like ripples on the pond. One and all headed back to the castle, save but a few.

Airmed and Niamh stood by the moonlit lake, watching the boats on the water's surface turn to ash. Airmed wept slowly as Niamh wrapped his arm around her shoulders and guided her back to the castle.

Harry, Neville, Ron, and Hermione waited by the fire. Harry had told Neville about what Sir Conn Elderson had said to him two nights ago, and wanted him to come along as was his right as a descendant of Mann. Ron and Hermione overheard the conversation and tagged along. Hermione thought that this was her one chance to get all of her questions about Mann and Airmed answered, confirming her convoluted theories. Ron was simply there because Harry and Hermione were there, and he was always around one or both of them.

The last figure to move was Conn Elderson. He had not moved a muscle since the beginning of the funeral, staying in his spot like a human statue. Now, he moved quietly to the flames as they crackled in the nighttime air. He looked over to the four students and sighed. With a lazy wave of his hand, two wooden logs appeared by the fire. He sat on one of them, and waited for the four Hogwarts teenagers to join him.

"I didn't know you were bringing others, Harry." Conn's voice was far-off in the distance as he stared into the flames.

"They wanted to come, sir." Harry sat on the log next to Conn, pointing at each of his friends. "This is Neville Longbottom, Ron Weasley, and Hermione Granger. We all had questions about Airmed and the Isle, and figured that it would be easier doing this as one instead of you having to repeat yourself four times."

Conn chuckled once at the logic placed before him. "True enough, young Potter." The Knight did a second look at Neville. "Longbottom, you said?"

Neville bowed to Conn from the waist. "Yes, sir. I am the descendant of Sir Aderyn Longwing, Knight of the Isle and green robe, sir." He rose from his bow and sat on the log next to Harry. "With your permission, I would be honored to share this with you." Ron and Hermione grew wide-eyed as Neville waved his hand and wordlessly transfigured a stick on the ground into a goblet, filling it with water. "Sir."

Conn raised his eyebrows and took the cup from Neville, drinking from it and handing it back. "You were raised in the Manx fashion, Neville of Longwing's line."

"Yes, sir, by my grandmother. She taught me the old stories passed down our line, so that we will never forget our history. However, because the wandless and wordless magic are so rarely in use in this place, I am forced to use a wand. It was difficult for me, and as a result my magic suffers." Ron and Hermione sat down without a word, feeling for the first time like interlopers.

Conn turned his face to Harry. "You wanted to learn of Airmed Wolfshead, Harry?" The sixteen-year-old nodded his head, his green eyes peering into the fire intently. "Then, let us start at the most logical of places: the beginning."

**AN: The ritual was inspired by Alexei Kondratiev's "The Apple Branch" and Ellen Evert Hopman's "The Druid Isle".**

**The song is Heather Dale's "Measure of a Man". Check it out on YouTube.**


	15. The Wheel Has Come Full Circle

Conn stared off into the flames, breathing quietly as he gathered his thoughts together. "What do you know of Manx society, young ones?" His voice had become deeper as he calmed his mind for the troubling topic ahead.

Harry looked around at the others, answering first. "It is a society that places the utmost value on honor, integrity, justice, and strength. It is a place of proud people, loyal to the death. You have been fighting the darkness for one hundred years in a war with many casualties and deaths. The king and queen are tied to the land by magic. Knights and soldiers protect the land and its people, and have for as long as history goes back. Much importance is placed on personal choice." He shook his head. "That's all."

Hermione went into an explanation of the robe system, trying her best not to hurry her words. She got more and more excited as she spoke, now that she finally had an opportunity to question a Manx Knight that was unlikely to blow up in her face. Everyone saw Conn's face grimace at her words, growling lowly in the back of his throat. Fear struck all four of them as he shook his head and briefly apologized.

Ron scratched his head, his ginger hair glowing in the night. "All I know is that you wear chainmail and carry weapons from the Middle Ages."

Neville spoke last, giving the same explanation that he had given the then-fifth-year boys a year and a month ago. Conn nodded approvingly. There was silence again as he thought about what he was going to say.

"Before I speak of Airmed Wolfshead, I must tell you of Mann and her history." He leaned his head back and closed his eyes, letting his words do all of the speaking for him.

"The Isle is unplottable. No one can find it on a map, not even non-magical cartographers. This is because of old, old magic from the beginning of time. The only reason that it is known to the British magical people is because we began to trade with you. It is guarded by heavy mists and never-ending storm clouds. If you try to get at it from water by boat, the currents would pull you away. If you try to get at it from air by broomstick or other magical means, you would simply fly through the storm and never reach your goal. The only way that you can enter the Isle is by a native magic user that will part the mists and allow you through.

"In some of the oldest books in the Royal Library, there are accounts that connect the Isle of Man with the Isle of Avalon. Avalon, as I hope you know, is the resting place of King Arthur's body. It is also known as the Isle of Apples… Well, apples grow rampantly around the Isle, and we are proud warriors all. Some of our genealogists tried before the war to find a connection between King Arthur and any of the old bloodlines. However, that research has long been lost to the depths of times.

"The Isle of Man, in ancient times, was the birthplace of the protectors of Britain, Ireland, Scotland, Cornwall, and Wales. In times of magical disputes, we would be called upon as a neutral middle party. Think of us as mediators, if you will. If there were any magical threat to the British Isles, Mann would use her forces and protect your land and people from harm.

"Two hundred years ago, however, the Ministry of Magic under the British government of King George II placed a blanket ban on any and all Manxmen and Manx ideas within the borders of the British Empire. We were no longer allowed to enter this country or any of its colonies. We were informed that because we were so old-fashioned, we were rendered unnecessary. We, who had protected this island since its creation, were now considered superfluous. We were also told that because of our old ways, we were at risk of becoming one with the Darkness that we had fought for so long. We were unwelcome. And so, we retreated back to our home.

"Many felt betrayed by that. Our purpose in life was stripped from us as callously as a dressing is stripped from a healing wound. The Darkness was gaining power from our despair, until the king at the time, Cadha Eaglewing, decreed that every Manxman was given a choice: to take on a trade, or to expand their education at the Academy. It filled the time and dulled the pain. But we never forgot what your ancestors did to us.

"In the year 1959, when Ireland became a recognized sovereign state, we opened our borders to their magical government reluctantly. Our fears, it turned out, were not needed. We were received with open arms and camaraderie. The Irish had not forgotten us, or what we had done for their people for hundreds of years. We get petitions every year for families to come live on Mann, or for fathers or mothers to send their newborn children to us for schooling. They do us great honor."

"How then did people like Neville's ancestor come to live here?" Of course, the first question of the night went to Hermione.

"Before the ban, Manxmen that had completed their service to the crown had the opportunities to either stay on the Isle or move to Britain and begin life anew. Most choose to stay, but few do leave. Before leaving, however, they swear many oaths to our liege lords never to reveal anything about life on Mann to anyone other than family, to never reveal its location, and to never draw arms for a foreign nation. If they decide that British life is not to their taste, then they are welcomed back to Mann."

"So choice is a large part of life on Mann, correct, sir?" Neville looked at Conn's face curiously, trying to read past the impassive look.

"Correct, Longbottom." Conn sharply exhaled. "Our society is based on choice, but also the consequence of choice. We live as we do because we choose to. It is the same as why your government seems stuck in the Victorian age. It is a choice that became a tradition. We fight in the old ways to honor our ancestors and our gods. We choose to perform magic without wands or incantations because it is easier for us to do so."

"What about the Darkness? What is its role in Manx society?" Harry stared intently at the fire, listening to Conn's words closely but watching the flames burn in front of him. If he looked closely enough, he could imagine that he saw shapes in the fire: people walking on fiery paths, a castle of embers and charcoal.

"We are a society built on choice. As children, we are educated in basic morals and ethics, like most children. However, when we were banned from Britain, the Darkness became stronger. Many of my people grew angry and spiteful at the British, for they took away our purpose. They told us that what we had learned, what we had trained for, was worthless. There was no point in passing on traditions so old that they could be considered antiquated by your people. And so the Darkness began to grow stronger.

"The Darkness is simply the darker of the two choices. If you are in need, you steal. If you are in trouble, you lie. It usually starts out innocuously like that, but it can become much, much worse. One hundred years ago, a dark sorcerer known by the alias Nudd made a pact with both the dullahans and the Hounds of the Underworld, the Cwn Anwnn. They are the soul-snatchers, the ones that go on the hunt for souls unwilling to pass over. Using them and others like him, Nudd started the war. He attacked Castle Rushen and declared a war on the Isle of Mann for allowing us to lose our purpose."

Conn looked at all of them and growled lowly. "So many of us blamed Britain for the war, and rightly so. It started with you. But over time, we began to accept that you no longer needed us. However, that does not mean that we will ever forgive you for it. There were other more honorable ways to dismiss us than to completely ban us from your presence like disobedient slaves." His voice grew gravelly and deeper, until he shook his head and stared back at the flames.

"Of course, we banded together and fought this monster. However, his numbers began to grow as others, magic and non-magic alike, began to fall to the Darkness and join him. Some believed in his cause. Others were in it for the power that the Darkness granted: the power to trample their enemies under their feet until Britain would feel the sword of Mann against its throat and its people would bleed in the streets."

"But what does this have to do with Airmed?" Hermione was getting anxious and it was showing in her voice and in her fidgety posture.

"Do they not teach patience in this school?" Conn snapped at her. "You asked for her story. But history is pointless to learn without the appropriate context. This is the context." That shut her up. Conn took a few deep breaths and calmed himself down. It would do him no good to be angry during this telling.

"The story of Airmed Wolfshead starts out the same as most typical Manx children. She was born to two serving Knights, the seventh child and the twin of her brother Marcus. Her older brothers and sisters were either going through training as Knights or were already serving. Her parents wanted her and her brother to continue the family legacy and become Knights.

"At three years old, Airmed transformed into her wolf form for the first time. This gift was unheard of in the last three centuries of Manx history. As a result, she was brought to the Aurorian Academy to learn to control her gift. This required that she learn basic anatomy of every possible creature, as well as reading, writing, and speaking. Yes, she was only three years old, but she took to these lessons so quickly and easily. She was the darling of the Academy, always asking questions and challenging herself even at such a young age. She spent time in the forest with the Seelie and Unseelie Courts, with those that can talk with animals so that she could study them. At the age of four, she climbed up the mountains to study the griffins and dragons from a distance.

"It was at this time that I first met her. The Wolfshead clan had produced many strong Knights in the past, but Nuala, Cian, Padraic, Saoirse, and Drustan had great skills that had impressed me. Her twin Marcus was still living with his parents at the time; he would not come to the Academy until he was five, like the rest of the children. But Airmed… something about her carefree blue eyes, her black hair as it crossed her face and obscured her infectious smile. Something about her triggered a thought in me, a thought that maybe she would be the next black robe.

"'Ermione, you are wrong. There is no hierarchy of magic-users versus non-magic-users. It is, once again, a choice. None are valued above others. Instead, all are valued for their skill set. There are blue robes, yellow robes, green robes, red robes, and black robes, yes. In addition, there are also purple robes, or those magic-users that specialize in divinatory methods and prophecies. There are grey robes as well, or those that learn weather magic. There are those that combine robes, like Airmed: she is a black-and-red robe, meaning that she is a black robe but has specialized the majority of her power to battle magics, warding, and runic magics. It is a choice that determines what specialization the person undergoes during their later training years.

"However, black robes are the one exception. After years of discipline and training, those that choose to undergo the ritual and survive are some of the most powerful magic-users for a simple reason. If they survive the ritual, they are filled with the knowledge and power of every black robe in the past. They can literally tie themselves to the land and the magic of Mann, like our rulers. However, there are not many that survive. All that undergo the black robe trials are warned of the risks, but everyone on Mann would die for the honor of serving the crown and the country. This was another opportunity. But again, it is a choice."

Silence filled the air as the Hogwarts four digested the information. Harry and Neville were white with terror. Hermione simply did not believe any of this. Ron was just clueless. This meant nothing to him.

Conn continued on. "At the age of five, every child of Mann is gathered at the Academy to go through the first of two trials. The first trial is meant to instill discipline and the beginnings of obedience in the young children, as well as respect for elders and those in positions of authority. It is the beginning of their training as soldiers." He looked at the students with a strange look in his eyes.

"Over the course of a year, they are broken again and again. Rewards for good behavior are meted out in the form of extra food at meal times, or an extra ten minutes of sleep. Punishments are far more common: the results of disobeying orders, not completing assigned tasks, complaining. From the start, they are forced to follow all orders given from the teachers of the Academy, as well as blooded Knights. If they do not fulfill any of the orders, or if they refuse, they are punished accordingly. Going without food until given the privilege by their superiors, they are built from the ground up to honor those with greater authority than them: their rulers, their commanders, and their parents. It has been proven to work.

"At sunup, they would be woken up with shouts and light beatings. They would exercise with the Knights, pushed by the instructors. Their parents would not be allowed to see them during the first year of their training. They would learn the rudiments of swordsmanship, archery, and horseback riding. They would run and run until their legs cramped, and then would work through the rest of the exercise. They would learn to wrestle each other. Bruises, bloody knuckles and noses, abrasions: all are common during this phase.

"After the first year, the children are given the choice. Every person on Mann serves in the military for fifteen years after their training is completed. The choice is simple: to train as a Knight, or to train as a soldier. Knight training is more intense, both academically and physically, and you are usually in it for life. Soldier training, on the other hand, also involves an apprenticeship in a trade of their choosing so that they have a career after their service is complete.

"Airmed's trial was no exception. She, her twin brother, and her newly betrothed Niamh Firebird were the hardest to break. Airmed, however, was the key to that. She was penalized with stealing food from the kitchens for the three of them. So, in front of her entire group, she was tied to the pole in the middle of the courtyard and whipped for disrespecting her commanders and dishonoring commands. It was five months through the trial. Niamh and Marcus had to be held back by their year-mates before they killed Donnchadh Strongarm for whipping her like that. After that, she unified them all. Airmed, Marcus, and Niamh became leaders for the group and made sure that every child made it through to the end."

"You _whipped_ a five-year-old girl?" Ron turned green for a moment. Hermione had tears running down her face.

"She came to me after the first trial and thanked me personally, knowing that I had given the order. She was headstrong and willful at the beginning. She never would have become a Knight if she hadn't experienced the ultimate punishment." Conn never looked apologetic. "However, that day when she and everyone else finished the trials, the Academy was attacked.

"The dragons and the wyverns have always been our allies. However, the Darkness had gotten them under curses that compelled them to follow their will twenty years before the eldest Wolfshead daughter of this generation was born. Dragonfire smote Aithne Wolfshead, Ruadh Lionsbeard, and Nuala Wolfshead in front of Airmed and Marcus as they tried to protect their year-mates. Saoirse, Cian, and Niamh's older brother Dicter pulled the three of them away from the burning bodies.

"For days after their death, Airmed refused to speak to anyone. Not even Niamh could get her to speak. For the longest time afterwards, she did nothing but train and look after her youngest brother Euan. Her training masters had nothing but accolades to say about her progress. But her manner was frightening to the others.

"Only our beloved Queen Ethne managed to make progress with her. Aithne Wolfshead was a dear friend to Ethne Druidson; they were part of the same training group when they were fledgling Knights. As such, Ethne had made a promise to Aithne to train her youngest daughter in the ways of the Order of the Dragon. They are our priests and priestesses, the bearers of the knowledge of old and the ways to contact the gods. Only through this training did she begin to speak again. However, she didn't stop the intensity of her other training.

"After Airmed was beginning to talk again, myself, Donnchadh, Sorcha Greenblood, and the King and Queen approached the remaining Wolfshead scions. Aithne and Ruadh were two of the finest Knights that I ever had the honor of serving with. As such, the five of us agreed to watch over the seven remaining children. Cian and Padraic would become the wards of the King and Queen. Drustan and Saoirse would become the wards of Sorcha and her husband. Airmed and Marcus would become the wards of Donnchadh. Little Euan, the last of the Wolfshead line, would become my ward. All of them called Castle Rushen and the Aurorian Academy home. We were their guardians, their mentors, and their commanders. There would be no special treatment, no preferential selection.

"The training of a Knight on Mann is incredibly difficult. Every student learns two primary weapons, two secondary weapons, and the bow, as well as wrestling and hand-to-hand combat. Reading, writing, rhetoric, mathematics, and logic are taught in the afternoon sessions. History and magical studies are added in the second year of training. Basic medical training is added in the second half of the second year. By the fifth year of training, subjects like warding, runes, advanced mathematics or Arithmancy, languages, natural philosophy, and musical studies are slowly incorporated. In the sixth year, the study of Manx laws was added. That is the final added subject. All students are eleven at this time.

"When Airmed and Marcus were eleven years old, there was another raid on the main city. This time, the Cwn Anwnn were summoned to do battle with our forces. Cian and Saoirse Wolfshead and Dicter Firebird were among the dead.

"Airmed's twelfth and thirteenth years of life, and her ninth and tenth years of training as a Knight, proved to be the significant turning point. By now, Airmed Wolfshead, Marcus Wolfshead, and Niamh Firebird were among the most well trained Knights of their age group. In that group was another student: the girl known as Iseult Strongarm.

"Iseult was another of those being considered for black robe status among the training group. She was charismatic, and friendly to everyone. She was the younger daughter of her father's line, but she was the carbon copy of Donnchadh's deceased wife. He tended to spoil her a little. Iseult was often seen with Airmed in the library, doing research for their homework. They were as thick as thieves. That made the betrayal all the harder to swallow.

"Airmed had just turned twelve years old when Iseult attacked her. In removing her eye and beginning the process of draining her magic and blood, Iseult had the ability to gain untold power in a dark ritual. Luckily, Donnchadh was on guard duty and heard the struggle in Airmed's quarters. He was the one to take down his own daughter, restraining her until the royal guard came. Airmed spent a week in the infirmary under armed guard, and Iseult was punished accordingly.

"However, before her final sentence could be carried out, she escaped. Iseult, daughter of none and now known as Blackone, is now the leader of the Darkness. She usurped Nudd and his only successor and unified the dark ones with the aims of destroying Mann and Britain like ants under a grinding stone. It has completely consumed her, driving her insane.

"When Airmed was released from the infirmary, her anger burned white hot and she trained nonstop for six months. Niamh and Marcus both had to monitor her and make sure that she ate and slept. Without them, she probably would have worked herself to exhaustion. Her new appearance frightened many people: the hollowed-out eye cavity, the scar, and her white hair. She did not smile widely anymore. Her remaining brothers Drustan, Padraic, Marcus, and Euan, as well as Niamh, Donnchadh, and Sorcha, were the only ones to bring her out of her anger and back to normal. Still, she was never the same again."

Conn took a deep breath, but his exhale was shaky as he bowed his head. Harry saw how much this hurt him to tell Airmed's history. But the course was chosen, and he was going to see this through. After this, perhaps, he would take the old saying into account: 'curiosity killed the cat'.

The fire was dying in front of them, so Harry pulled out his wand and cast a quiet _Incendio_ to renew the blaze and keep them all warm. Ron and Hermione were shivering, huddled together. Only Neville and Conn showed no reaction to the cold air around them. Once Conn had regained his calm, he looked back into the flames.

"After Airmed's rage had spent itself, she approached me with the wish to undergo both the trial for Knighthood and the black robe trials." He rubbed his hands together. "The black robe trials are always done at the age of thirteen, the height of magical maturation. Now, most often those undergoing training as Knights are knighted when they are fifteen. However, Airmed had spent two years more than most in her class at the Academy learning. This qualified her to undergo the trials of Knighthood at thirteen.

"Once she had been warned of the risks of the trials and told that she might not survive, she agreed to wait six months until the day of her thirteenth natality. She was introduced to the last surviving black robe to be her mentor: Ciarán Darkstar. He was fifty years old, and still serving with men and women half his age with the vigor of a young man. He would be the one to perform the trials with her.

"As soon as our meeting was over, Marcus Wolfshead and Niamh Firebird barged through the door. Marcus told me, with Niamh as his witness, that he wished to undergo the black robe trials as well. He looked to his twin sister, and told her in front of me, Donnchadh, and Ciarán that she would never be alone again: that she had him, and Niamh, Drustan, Padraic, Euan, and their guardians. Airmed wept in my office as she broke down in her brother's and her betrothed's arms. At that point, I knew it in my heart: Airmed and Marcus and Niamh were each other's lifelines. They were each other's keys to making it through this war.

"Marcus and Airmed spent six months under intensive magical and physical training to prepare them both for the trials. They went into seclusion in the last month, meditating and preparing for the ritual. On their thirteenth natality, both of them underwent the trials.

"'Ermione, that is the only correct part of that book you read from. In the trials, their loved ones hold down the participants, and those that survive heal with scars the color of their magic. Airmed was first, held down by Niamh Firebird, Padraic Wolfshead, Donnchadh Strongarm, and Queen Ethne Druidson. Drustan Wolfshead, Donnchadh Strongarm, King Nuada Eaglewing, and myself held down Marcus. Ciarán carved the marks into their backs, no tears falling from his face as we endured the screaming and the begging. Both of them survived the ritual." Conn looked up from the fire into the eyes of the students gathered. "Twin black robes are extraordinarily rare. The last case of twin black robes was five hundred years ago."

"But again, loss seemed to follow Airmed's footsteps. As soon as she emerged from her healing, Padraic died at the hands of a raiding party. After the funeral, she underwent the trials for Knighthood. The trial seemed trivial after all that she had gone through: the supplicants stay overnight in the forest by Castle Rushen and meditate on what it means to be a Knight. They pray to the gods for advice, or signs. No one speaks of what occurs in the trials after it has occurred. It is a greatly personal time.

"At Imbolc six years ago, Sir Airmed Brigid Wolfshead was knighted by King Nuada Eaglewing. That night, Iseult led a raid against the castle and managed to kill Euan Wolfshead. Airmed held him in her arms as he died. That night, she swore to the gods that she would be the one to kill Iseult Blackone.

"Two years later, Sir Niamh Tân Firebird and Sir Marcus Nuada Wolfshead were knighted. They jointly commanded the first and second companies of the Royal Army under Donnchadh Strongarm and myself. They brought many victories to our people. And now, Marcus is dead. Niamh and the children of her brothers and sisters are all that keeps Airmed from seeking a glorious death."

Conn stood up from the fire. By now, it was nearing six o'clock. All four of the Hogwarts students stood with him and began to walk up to the castle. Most of the other occupants of the citadel would be headed to the dormitories or to their temporary sleeping quarters. That meant that the Great Hall would be mostly empty for a late supper.

Harry still had questions that he wanted to have answered, but it could wait until after they had something to eat and had a chance to warm up. At a quick word from Dobby, food and drink were brought up from the kitchens. Conn began to wolf down on the food in front of him like there was no tomorrow. Neville and Ron were slower to join, but they shoveled back their fair share. Only Harry and Hermione could not eat anything. Hermione was playing with the food on her plate, but her mind was whirling a mile a minute at the information that she had been pounded with while making it fit to her theories about Airmed being Dark. Harry was simply thinking about it all.

"Any questions for me?" Conn tore into a loaf of bread.

"You told Harry two nights ago that Marcus was her last remaining brother." Neville was speaking quietly. "But from what you've told us, Drustan should still be alive. Is he?"

Conn shook his head. "Drustan died three weeks before Airmed came to Hogwarts. She was in the infirmary recovering from injuries afterwards."

Well, that was to the point. Harry shook his head. "I've seen a few times that Airmed has a scar on the back of her neck. Something like a crescent moon, I think. What does it mean?"

Conn leaned back in his seat, a grim smile on his face. "What, like this?" With a swift motion, he lifted up his braid and revealed the back of his neck. There, emblazoned on his pale neck, was the same waxing crescent moon.

"Yeah, exactly like that!" Harry took a closer look at the scar. It was not a scar at all, on a closer inspection. It was a branding burn.

"This is the brand of the Crescent Warriors." Conn turned back to his food. "We are the elite of all warriors on Mann." He swallowed the bread in his mouth.

"Let me clarify. Within the armies are several groups besides the main fighting force. There are the Ravens, or the elite archers. They're usually non-magical or yellow robes. There's the Dragon Squad: fire controllers and summoners that used to work with the dragons and wyverns. There are others, but they are not crucial to the explanation.

"Crescent Warriors are the elite of the elite. Both magical and non-magical, we are the assassins, the shadows in the night. Poisons and invisibility are Airmed's specialty. She joined us when she was eleven years old, and could win a bout with two out of three of our senior members. We train in stealth, invisibility, infiltration, espionage, discretion, and assassination. It's no secret about what we are to the average Manxmen, just who all of the members are. We protect our rulers and the high command from threats from the darkness. Consider us the equivalent to the non-magical MI-6 of the British monarchy.

"Someone else is now the leader, when I stepped down two years ago. Before you ask, it is not Airmed: she has far too many responsibilities as it stands now." The fact that he was able to speak about this while eating a quiet meal was disquieting to all present. "It's getting late. I'll allow one more question."

Neville looked to Conn. "What happens now?"

"Dumbledore has allowed us to stay here until we can go home. He owes us a favor, and it's going to be his responsibility to clear it with the Ministry. Luckily, over the last summer, what Airmed started was continued. The ban has been lifted on Manxmen, and we can come now to Britain. For now, we heal, dress our wounds, and prepare to face the darkness."

Conn turned his entire attention back to his food. This conversation was over. All four of the Gryffindors headed back to the dormitories, thoughts heavy in their minds. None of them would sleep well tonight.


	16. In the Way of Bargain, Mark Ye Me

The next few weeks were tense, to say the least. A lot of the magical-born Hogwarts students did not want the Manxmen here in the school, remembering the old ban and fearing a return to the old ways. Others were afraid of the dangers that had brought the foreigners here: a lot of the younger students were still afraid of the barking dogs and the shadows that Halloween night. But mostly, they were afraid of the strangers and the changes that they brought to Hogwarts.

Every Manxman, from oldest man to youngest child, walked around the castle with at least one weapon in hand, dressed in leather armour at the least. None of them felt safe, even with the assurances of the wards done by Airmed and Niamh. It was a regular occurrence during meal times for several of the Manxmen to come up to the bloody sigil in the middle of the Great Hall floor and inspect it to make sure that everything was okay.

Everyone knew that the Manxmen lived in the Great Hall. There were enough of them to fill the whole hall itself, and yet Hogwarts seemed to expand to fit them spaciously. It was usual during meal times to see piled sleeping mats against the wall, a fifth table accommodated into the hall to seat the foreigners. They spoke in Manx or Gaelic at the meals, never wanting the British students to overhear their conversations. When they were stopped in the halls, every one of them spoke impeccable English with thick accents like Airmed. They were strangers, and many felt that they were unwelcome.

It did not help their cause when none of them attended the assigned classes of the school. Instead, they sat in groups in the Great Hall and learned from their teachers that way from nine in the morning to five at night, breaking for lunch in between. After breakfast until nine, you could hear the drills being performed by all of the people in the hall, Airmed's voice roaring over them as she led the count. No one actually saw the drills, but the unified clang of live metal weapons frightened the students.

Umbridge was little help to this. In fact, she added kindling to the fire. She would come into the classes for her routine inspections and talk to the students. Oh, they were little things, but she blamed the Manxmen for the danger that everyone was feeling. No one felt safe anymore at Hogwarts, she told the students, and it was all the fault of the Manxmen. She encouraged the students to take action into their own hands, and that they did.

No Manxman was safe in the hallways by themselves. What seemed like every student, regardless of House, came down on the foreigners like the wrath of the gods. Everything, from verbal abuse and shoving in the hallways, to full-fledged physical assault occurred on almost a daily basis. Airmed, Niamh, and Donnchadh listened to the accounts for two weeks, before Airmed went into a rage. No one mistreated her comrades-in-arms without expecting retribution.

That was another memorable day at lunch when Airmed slammed the doors open so hard that one of them nearly cracked. Everyone was sitting down and quietly eating when the doors to the Great Hall cracked open and Airmed yelled, "UMBRIDGE!" Her face was red and her mouth was twisted into a livid expression.

"Airmed, Airmed, calm down!" Her husband was trailing behind her, her weapons in his hand. But she was not listening. In a show of absolute impressive strength, Airmed stalked down the floor and ran up the stairs, grabbing Umbridge's pink sweater in one hand and lifting her off the floor.

"WHAT in the name of the skies is THIS?" Airmed brandished a piece of paper in her hand in front of the stuttering woman. "By order of the High Inquisitor, all non-British nationals are required to register with the Ministry for the sake of our nation's safety. All weapons are to be relinquished to the High Inquisitor of Hogwarts for further safe-keeping." Airmed's face was beyond furious, and her voice shook the stones of the hall. "What is this pile of shite? We're allies, you dimwitted twit! Your own Ministry guaranteed our safety here!"

Harry stood up from his seat, turning around to see Conn, Sorcha Greenblood, and Donnchadh coming quietly into the hall. Conn quietly tapped Harry on the shoulder. "Be ready." Harry joined the crowd and watched Airmed explode.

Niamh tossed her weapons to the ground and wrapped his arms around her, making her drop Umbridge. Airmed fought against him, swearing at the woman on the ground in every language she knew. Niamh was having trouble holding on to her, and Conn joined in to help hold her still. Neither of them were using their magics to help restrain her, which suggested that they agreed with Airmed's wrath but chose not to show it in such an overt manner.

Harry walked away from Sorcha and placed a hand on Airmed's shoulder, not seeing that Conn was shaking his head and Donnchadh was trying not to rush and help to restrain his second-in-command.

"Airmed." Harry spoke calmly to her, keeping himself visible in her right eye. "Airmed, you must calm down." He wanted to join her in ranting against Umbridge, but it was only going to do nothing at the present moment. "Airmed, you're scaring Euan."

That was true. The young second-year looked frightened at the sight of his watcher going postal on the High Inquisitor. He was white in the face, trembling a bit. Airmed saw this, and began to take deep breaths to start calming down. She held tight to the crumpled piece of paper in her hand, but she was not fighting against Niamh or Conn.

Another pair of hands came to hold on to Airmed. Harry shot a quick look to his side. Neville was gently removing Niamh's and Conn's hands from Airmed, looking at them with authority, a different look for the usually timid teenager. He gently took the piece of paper from her hands and read it through. He looked to Harry and nodded his head. He moved slowly to face Airmed, and spoke in crisp Gaelic to her. All of the Hogwarts students in the Hall looked at Neville in incredulous shock as Airmed was led away by Neville and Harry without a fight, flanked by the four Manx Knights.

They did not stop walking until they reached the Room of Requirement. The Hogwarts duo opened the door and let her into the empty room, walking her to a bench to sit on. The four Knights stood by her, watching her. Conn looked at the both of them with a strange look on his face, like he, too, could not believe what had happened.

"Why are they doing this to us, **mo shearc**?" Airmed was emotionless, drained. Harry saw the bags under her eye, the paleness of her face. Had she slept at all in the last two weeks? Somehow, he doubted it. "They treat us like we are the dirt beneath their feet. Why do they hate us so? What have we done to them to earn this?"

Niamh knelt in front of her, holding onto her hand. "They do it because they fear us, Airmed **mo ghrá**." He rubbed the back of her scarred hand, looking up at her until she looked back at him. "They fear us because they fear the Darkness that haunts our steps. That fear is made into anger and rage that we continue to stay here and endanger others that have no stake in our fight. Dumbledore knows the risks of letting us stay here, as does Morgana and Faelchu. They have advised him well in letting us stay here. Now, we simply have to take precautions in living here."

"Not everyone hates the people of Mann, Airmed." Neville spoke up; he had moved to lean against the wall. "I could give you a list of names of those who have Manx blood in them, that want to honor their ancestors. You have me. You have Harry. Skies, even Euan wants to help you in what ways he can. But you have to let us help us first." There was a tinge of stone in his voice, but it helped to ground everyone in the room.

Airmed nodded her head, letting it hang as she took a few shaky breaths. She was this close to completely losing it. She had the weight of a prophecy hanging over her, the fate of an entire nation resting on her shoulders, and she was being stupid. Everyone was willing to help her, holding out their hands to assist her. Even the motto of the Academy was a reminder for her to use the help being offered: "Trust in your weapon". In her case, she had many weapons being offered.

Looking up at Niamh, she nodded her head. "Okay. Okay, let's do this." She grabbed his hand and they stood up. For a moment, all she did was lean her forehead against Niamh's, breathing and getting herself back under control. "The Council is meeting in two days. Conn, please talk to Dumbledore to see if Minister Fudge would be interested in coming to the Council. We have to prepare for the arrival of the Seelie and Unseelie Courts: Sorcha, you, Faelchu, and Torniach can do that. I'll talk to Ferrovax and **Airgead-Sciathán **for their representatives. Niamh, talk to the leaders of Griffin and Raven Squads; they'll need to be there as well."

Her eye was clear as she turned to Harry and Neville. "Neville, gather the Manxborn for a meeting after the Council is adjourned. I want to talk to them with the Queen present. Harry, help him on this. Then, we will discuss what to do with the Darkness with Dumbledore and Harry after the Council." She pointed her finger at Harry as she thought of something else. "Harry, write a letter to your godfather and Remus Lupin. I want them present as members of the Order of the Phoenix."

"How do you know about Sirius?" Harry's face went white.

"He's a descendant from the Blacksun line of Mann, a powerful line of black and red robes. Although it has become perverted in recent years with its allegiance to the Darkness, he has proven to be honorable to the Manx way of living. Plus, Albus introduced me to the members of the Order of the Phoenix last summer." She grinned at him. "Tell him to make himself invisible somehow, him and Remus both. But they will want to come to the meeting."

She looked at everyone, and nodded her head. "Thank you. I've been a right **amadan** these last few days. But now, let's move past that, and prepare to meet our next challenges." Everyone in the room nodded and left to go back to the Great Hall, their objectives in hand.

Airmed sat down at the Gryffindor table with Harry and Neville, ignoring the whispered accusations. Hermione leaned over to Ron and spoke sotto voce, "What's she doing here?" Harry passed her a goblet of water that she drank down before turning to Euan. Without words, she looked to the young man and apologized to him. Euan bolted into her arms and hugged her tightly.

"Oh, my. How sentimental!" A cynical female voice rang out from the broken doors of the hall. "Makes me want to vomit."

"Niamh!" In an instant, Airmed's sword was in hand and Euan was shoved behind her back so that she could protect him. Every Manxman held their weapon at the ready as the strange new visitor walked up the hall.

Black skin shone in the sunlight as she walked down between the tables. Black hair was tied down in a braid down to the middle of her shoulders. The chainmail clinked as she walked, but her tabard was pure black: there was no family symbol. Her shoulders and torso were draped in a cloak, midnight black like the rest of her uniform. She leaned on a staff of black wood, hiding a subtle limp in her left side. That was not the most frightening: it was the scar on her face. It was as if someone had held the left side of her face over a flaming torch. The skin under her eye drooped, and the skin of her cheek looked as if it had melted. The left half of her mouth was curled into a permanent sneer.

She walked between the tables without a care of the weapons pointed in her direction, coming to stop right in front of Airmed. "You haven't changed much, **puca**. Still protecting the weak, still trying to be the perfect Knight." The woman raised a hand as if to place it on Airmed's shoulder.

"Iseult." The name came like a growl from Airmed's throat as she backed away and pointed the sword at the stranger's throat. "You're merely an illusion. You can't cross through the wards."

Iseult nodded her head to the side, the smirk stretching her face. She made to place a hand on the table, but it fell through as though she was a ghost. "That was the one thing you were better at than me. But no matter." The staff in her hands hit the ground. "I understand that you're looking for me, little wolf. Well, you found me." She raised her arms, displacing her cloak and showing off the scars on her arms. The chainmail that she was wearing was sleeveless, making the display of her arms and her scars a formidable sight. "What do you want?"

"It's time to end this war, Iseult, and you know it. We are at a stalemate. We have been for the last twenty years. You may have taken our home, but you haven't conquered us. We can continue this until the end of time, but you and I both know that this will end with us." Airmed lessened the glare in her voice, but she was still on the defensive.

The illusion of Iseult cocked an eyebrow. "What is your suggestion?"

"A duel, two weapons and magic. No first blood, no leeching spells. This will be to the death." Niamh's eyes grew wide and he made to stop her, but Donnchadh held him back. "In one year's time, on the autumnal equinox. During the time in between now and then, we both will train so that we will be at our best. If I win, I get to kill you. If you win, you get to kill me.

"The stalemate will continue until then, like a ceasefire. We will not sue for peace, and neither will you. We will not show quarter, as I know you will not either. You have the Isle of Man, but not its people or the magics of the land. I have my people, and you have yours. We both have our magics, and that makes us equals once more." Airmed looked at the illusion, lifting her chin up. "Do we have an accord?"

The illusion of Iseult paused for a moment, a thoughtful sneer on her face. "In the old way?"

"There will be no interference on my side. Not from your once-father, not from my husband. Not even Commander Elderson will interfere in our duel. That is my assurance to you." Airmed relaxed her stance ever so slightly, lowering her sword to sheathe it. Many of the Manxmen began whispering in fear at the sight of their commander disarming herself in front of their greatest enemy. Airmed knew that her sword would do nothing against this illusion, since it was not flesh and blood.

Iseult lowered her arms to cross them over her chest. "I want you to use your cards. Tell me what I'm thinking."

Airmed shook her head. "Unless this illusion can hold material things, you can't properly shuffle the cards, Iseult." Still, she summoned the cards from out her pouch and held them in her hands for a moment. "You know what to do, then."

Harry watched in curiosity, moving out of Hermione and Ginny's death grips on his arms to watch what was happening. Airmed's cards had not led him wrong. They appeared to be quite accurate in their telling. Whatever magic they had been imbued with was powerful in their own right.

Airmed did not shuffle the cards. Instead, she spread them out on the Gryffindor table, moving plates and cutlery out of the way with a swipe of her arm. Iseult stood over the table, placing a hand over the cards and closing her eyes. Moving her hand slowly over the cards, she pointed down to four at seemingly random. Flipping them over, Airmed revealed them to the watchers. Harry was able to make out three of the four: a face-up flower called 'borage', a face-up ram, and a face-up boar. The fourth card had nothing on it but a blank white surface.

Unlike Harry's reading, Airmed pointed to the cards and spoke only one or two words. At the blank card, she said, "Focus." At the plant card, she pointed out "Courage". "Sacrifice" was for the ram card. For the final card, the boar, Airmed said only, "Direction".

The Iseult-illusion paused for a long time, passing her hand over her prediction. Neither of the Knights spoke a word. Harry observed just how similar they were as they stood there: the way they stood ready to attack or defend, the ease that they wore the armour with, the way that they darted their eyes from place to place as they took in the cards. Iseult curled her lips and scoffed as she turned back to Airmed.

"I accept your proposal." The words rang through the silent hall like a ripple over a still lake. The majority of the Manxmen looked to go into shock, while some of the Knights bowed their heads and prayed.

Airmed nodded and walked over to the ward on the ground. She waited until Iseult joined her and they clasped forearms over the seal. "Donnchadh, please witness this." Iseult's once-father came over, trying his best to hide the tremor in his hands and the worry in his eyes.

Airmed's eye began to glow navy blue as her arm began to flame up with the color of her magic. Iseult's eyes were doing the same, only her magic was pitch black. Over their forearms, their magics tried to combine but ending up simply spiraling around.

"I, Airmed Wolfshead, do swear to participate in a one-on-one duel with myself and Iseult Blackone, once-Strongarm, on the autumnal equinox of the year 1997. This duel, I will fight with my sword, my glaive, and my magic. I will use no outside help once the circle is drawn. I will fight to the death, not first blood." The tendrils of navy blue fire began to burn stronger and brighter.

"I, Iseult Blackone, once-Strongarm, do swear to participate in a one-on-one duel with myself and Airmed Wolfshead on the autumnal equinox of the year 1997. This duel, I will fight with my magic, my sword, and my morningstar. I will use no outside help once the circle is drawn. I will fight to the death, not first blood." Now, the black flames grew brighter and brighter.

Both began to speak now. "By land and sea and sky, by the gods above and below, by the strength of our bloods, we swear this oath by magic. If one breaks this oath, may the other gain their power." The murmurings in the hall grew to great force, becoming yelling matches among the Hogwarts students at the binding oaths. Neither of the women standing over the seal took notice. "By our wills, our wills be done!"

There was no subsonic boom, no flash of blinding light. The navy blue and black flames whirled faster and faster as they sunk under the skins of them that wielded them. Then, they disappeared and silence was made. Donnchadh stepped back and nodded his head: the oaths were binding and complete.

"See you in a year, little **puca**." Iseult laughed the entire way out of the hall as the doors slammed behind her.

Airmed simply nodded her head and replied. "I'll be there, little **cailleach**." She turned to Conn, pointedly not looking at Niamh as she lifted her chin and spoke. "And now the wheels begin to turn." With that, she turned and walked out of the hall.


	17. To Be, or Not To Be

The Great Hall was in an uproar as Airmed left them. Her people were fighting amongst each other in all three languages at what they were just forced to witness. Their commander had gone soft, Harry heard some of them shouting. Airmed Wolfshead would never have gone through this before. What had changed now? Was she trying to make them lose? Niamh, red-faced and furious, stalked out of the hall to find his wife and confront her.

The Hogwarts students were just as loud. They were pointing in the direction of the door, arguing with each other at the blatant oath-making in the middle of the Hall. Hermione was leading the cry of 'Dark Magic' among the Gryffindors, screaming that the Manx witch had endangered them all. Draco, for once, was leading the cry supporting Airmed's actions, calling them 'notoriously Slytherin' and 'a perfect way to draw out all of her enemies'.

At the staff table, Morgana Lionsbeard was holding her head in her hand, covering her eyes from the chaos breaking out in front of her. Her niece had done the gravest thing ever: she had swore an oath on her magic to the very person that had tried to take it from her seven years ago. Umbridge was taking furious notes of what she had seen to report back to the Minister, probably making a case against the Manxmen staying at Hogwarts. Dumbledore did nothing: he folded his hands in front of him on the table and simply watched.

Harry sat still, not taking part in either of the screaming matches. His thoughts were on the future confrontation between him and Voldemort. It would not be this neat, this clear-cut. Voldemort would never agree to a set date, a ceasefire. That was not his style. Harry had to be ready for the final battle, but when would that final battle be? He had to talk to Airmed, and soon. He needed her help.

He thought about everyone trying to help him. Dumbledore and his Order did not want his help, and they seemed to not be doing much on the home front. Hermione and Ron… they were his mates, but it was like they were mates with the Boy-Who-Lived instead of Harry Potter. Ginny was simpering in love so blatantly obvious that it made his teeth sing. I mean, he liked Ginny as a friend, even a bit like a sister, but not like a future wife. Sirius and Remus were aiding him a little by helping him to become an Animagus, but they were busy a lot of the time with Order matters. Airmed was here: she was real and present, and she had offered her hand in assistance.

"**CIUNAS!"** Donnchadh's voice rang out over the din. Everyone went quiet. The black man's face was tight with rage as he addressed his people. "This is unacceptable behaviour for you, **mo kith_._** _Ard-Leeideilagh_ Wolfshead is doing what she can to end the war. She is not turning dark. She is not abandoning us. She discussed this plan with me last night in the chance that the Blackone would be willing to negotiate. Now, finish your meal and meet me outside by the lake for training."

Harry left the hall after Niamh. He needed to find Airmed, talk to her. He could not find anything about the prophecy, and she seemed to know what it was about. He had to know what was going on. If Dumbledore saw it fit to see him only as a child and not as the person who had seen Voldemort rise again, then he was not going to be of much help to him.

"…no right to risk yourself like this! Do not ask me to stand aside and not interfere! **Damnu ort!** You stupid girl! You are the hope of Mann! Don't throw your life away like this!" Harry found them in an empty classroom, with the door barely cracked open. Niamh was yelling at Airmed, waving his hands in the air and ripping his fingers through his hair in anger. He paced the floor, sparks of fire striking against the stones as he stalked.

"I'm not asking, Niamh. I'm telling you as your fellow captain! You may command the Dragon Squad, but do not think that I report you in that fashion!" Airmed was standing with her arms crossed over her chest, but her face was rippled in agony. "Gods, you think I _want _to do this? You heard the prophecy! With Potter at my side, I must defeat the Darkness, but he's not ready! I don't want to die…"

Tears began to run down her face as she rubbed them away. Niamh stopped his pacing and watched his wife crying. But she pushed him away when he tried to comfort her, her sobs echoing in the room. "I don't want to die, Niamh. I want to kill her, for Euan, Marcus… for all my family and yours as well. For every family that she's destroyed in the last ten years. I need to kill her to end the fight, but I can't do it without you. I've already lost Marcus. Please don't leave me, too. Please…"

Niamh placed his hand on her shoulder, muttering in Manx as he drew her into his arms. He was rubbing her hair, closing his eyes and trying not to scream. Harry saw that he wanted to rant against his wife, to force her to change her hand. But the oaths were made and witnessed: he could do nothing on the day of the duel or risk Airmed losing her magic to Iseult. So, there was only one other option.

Niamh turned his strange golden eyes to the barely-cracked door. "Harry, come in." Airmed did not realize that he was even there, because she whipped around to see Harry peeking through the door sheepishly. She hurriedly wiped away her tears before turning back to Niamh.

Harry felt his cheeks burn with embarrassment as he shuffled into the classroom. He felt worse than the child who got caught with his hand in the biscuit jar. He was intruding on an incredibly private moment. "I'm sorry, I'll come back later."

"No." Airmed's voice was hollow, still echoing with the vestiges of her tears. "Harry, come ask your questions. Conn told me to expect you after the funerals, but not so late." She tried to chuckle, but it was obviously forced. "What do you want?"

"What is the prophecy about me? About Mann?" There was no more time to beat about the bush. "There was no information in the last year of my research. I looked everywhere about prophecies. I know what they are, how they are made, and how they are stored. But please, tell me what is being said about me."

Airmed looked to Niamh, blue staring into gold as they held a silent conversation. "Harry, close the door. Lock it with your magic." Harry went to take his wand out, but Airmed summoned it to her hands wordlessly. "Raise your hand, and make yourself believe. Let the feeling fill your fibres, and make the door close and lock. Tell it to close and lock, if you want to. But no wands."

Harry was confused by this turn of events. He could not possibly use magic without a wand! "Airmed, give it back."

This time, it was Niamh that spoke. "Harry, close the door without your wand, and you will learn about the prophecies and why they are so important for you."

So, that was that, then. Feeling incredibly stupid, Harry raised his hand to the door. He had to close his eyes, but his cheeks felt like they were on fire. He thought back to Airmed's words. Taking a few deep breaths, he thought only of closing the door. He pictured it in his mind: the door closing shut, the lock turning without its key. He thought of nothing else. He could feel the sweat roll down his forehead. His arm was getting stiff, but it did not feel right, not at this moment. He waited until his entire mind was focused solely on the door. Finally, he spoke it. "Close and lock."

The door shut close and it locked, by itself. Harry nearly collapsed into a nearby chair at the effort, the sweat pouring from his skin. His body felt completely drained, and that was just from closing a door. But… he did it. A feeling of euphoria came over him. He had just performed wandless magic for the first time. He looked over at the Manx Knights, to see them both nodding their heads.

"Well done, Potter." Niamh stood up, and looked back to Airmed. "We are not finished with this." He pointed to her and left the classroom. "Find me after this: Conn wanted to speak to us in the afternoon." As he left, he handed Harry back his wand.

"Tell him I'll come after I speak with Ferrovax. This shouldn't take very long." Niamh slammed the door shut behind him, leaving Harry alone with her. "So, Harry, you have the power, the determination. Now you will have your answers."

She sat on top of the empty teacher's desk, looking at Harry. "When Conn was telling you my life's story, did he tell you anything about a prophecy?"

He shook his head. "He didn't mention anything. He just told us-"

"Us?" Airmed's head shot up. "What do you mean, 'us'?"

"Neville, Ron, and Hermione were listening as well. I wanted Neville to hear, and the others tagged along."

"Dammit!" She slammed a fist on the desk. "That interfering little weasel! She never learns, does she?" Airmed's face grimaced as she bit off the diatribe at the end of her tongue.

"Airmed, why do you hate Hermione so much?" Harry sat down in front of the Knight, looking at her as he did a quick _Scourgify_ and cleaned himself up.

"She insists on learning everything. Secrets have no meaning to her. If something does not make sense, she questions and researches until she has whatever answers suit her perception of what is right and what is wrong." Airmed shook her head. "I am evil and dark in her eyes because I gained my rank through so-called 'blood magic', because I fight with swords and magic instead of negotiating and appeasing. Because I think that Albus Dumbledore made a great mistake, I am instantly one of your Death Eaters in her eyes."

"I know she can be stubborn, yeah…" Harry tried to justify Hermione's pestering, but found that he could not. Hermione's absolute need for truth and light was almost as bad as Umbridge and her quest to purge the school of questioners. Everything had to be black and white to both of them. There was no room for grey or other possibilities. Harry went to open his mouth, but the last thing Airmed said popped back. "What you do mean, you think Dumbledore made a mistake?"

Airmed sighed, rubbing the back of her neck. "Sixteen years old, a prophecy was made during an job interview with Headmaster Dumbledore present. It went like this: _The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches… born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies… and the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal, but he will have power the Dark Lord knows not… and either must die at the hand of the other for neither can live while the other survives… the one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord will be born as the seventh month dies…_ The first portion was heard by one of Voldemort's spies, who reported it back to him. This is the reason why you were targeted as a child, the reason why your parents are dead. The Dark Lord fears you, only because he marked you as his equal and the one who would kill him in the end."

Harry's world was turned upside down in that last minute. This was impossible! His life was the way it was, because of a prophecy? His parents were dead, his scar… because of a few words? Voldemort feared him because of this?

Airmed was not done, though. "There was another prophecy made, this time one hundred years ago on Mann. At the beginning of the war, the sister of one of my tutors was a purple robe employed by the Palace. She uttered these words:

_"The one-eyed wolf will rear its head/ and howl for loss of its dead./ Its friends have betrayed it,/ its family taken from it./It is the last of its kind._

_"It will travel to the land shrouded in darkness/ But no one will hear its plea./ No one understands its pain and bleakness,/ Save one with eyes of green._

_"With the green lightning, hand in hand,/ They'll banish the darkness from both lands/ But only if they understand/ The price to pay, the blood to shed,/ the ties to break."_

"The Manx prophecy refers to me: the one-eyed wolf that is the last of her generation." She pointed to her own scar. "You are the one with green eyes, the green lightning." She raised a hand and tucked her finger under his chin, lifting his face to see both his bright green eyes and his trademark scar in the sunlight. "It is the two of us that are meant to save both Mann and Britain. We are the Chosen Ones, Harry Potter."

Harry did not get a chance to question this. Airmed sat back in her chair and shot off a rapid question. "What do you know of your family's lineage?"

"What?" Harry was befuddled by this new question, still trying to digest the absurdity of being the chosen one. "My dad's a pureblood, and my mum was a Muggleborn, the first witch in her family."

"Do you know if you have Manx blood in your father's line?" Airmed's brow was furrowed together, trying to mete out this puzzle.

"What? Why? Why is that important?" Airmed rubbed her head hard, disturbing her braid.

"Because only one of Manx lineage can learn to be a Knight and a mage." Airmed dropped her hand and stared hard at him. "As of now, you are not ready to face Voldemort."

"What? I faced off against him and made it!" Harry's pride flared at the insult.

"By the skin of your teeth, according to the reports." Airmed stood up from her seat. "But if you're so sure that you can win against him, fight me." She removed her weapons from the table, and stood with her hands wide and empty. "Fight me, and prove to me that you have what it takes to defeat your Dark Lord."

"But you'll win! You've been training for longer." Harry stood and began to back away.

Airmed walked forward, matching him pace for pace. "So has Voldemort. Come on, Potter. Can't beat a woman?" She summoned the blue fire to her hands, making it dance. "Harry, you can't face an opponent backing away from them with no weapon in your hand. Defend yourself!"

She shot the blue flames at him, only for Harry to throw up a Shield Charm to ward himself. She kept up the onslaught, but his shield held up. He lowered his wand and began to attack her in turn. He could not understand why Airmed was assaulting him. Maybe Hermione was right: maybe Airmed was Dark after all.

The duel continued back and forward until Harry tripped on the ground and his wand fell out of his hand. Airmed managed to make her flames circle around his hands and paralyze him to the ground as she casually walked over to his wand and picked it up.

"My instincts are telling me that, by the time the duel comes around next year, Iseult and Voldemort will be working side by side in an alliance. It is a smart move, strategically. That is when we both shall strike. However, before that can happen, you must be as ready as we can make you. You have all of the tools at your fingertips, Harry. Now it is your choice." The flames disappeared with a flick of her hand. Airmed held out a hand for him, and waited.

Harry needed to think for a time. He was going to face off with Voldemort one time or another. That was for certain, even before he knew about this prophecy. His enemy may have been quiet in the last year, but something was bound to implode sooner or later. Voldemort would have his way. It was just a matter of when. Airmed had just proved that he was not ready to fight him off. How would he go after Voldemort and his Death Eaters, as well as whatever forces he will have managed to recruit by the time of the final fight?

But still… there was a part of him that was not ready for it. He wanted to just be a kid. But whom was he kidding? He had not been a child since Vernon slapped him the first time when he was two: he had asked his uncle for a hug because he was scared of the green light of his nightmares. He did not understand why the Wizarding World of Britain seemed content to place the fate of their lives and livelihoods on the shoulders of a sixteen-year-old boy.

He did not take her hand right away as he stood up. Harry stared at Airmed for a while, taking in her scarred eye. He really looked at her for the first time since they first met a year past. Besides the obvious ocular malformation, she was truly serene in a severe sort of way. Despite everything that had just happened in the last hour, she managed to keep her calm after losing it at Niamh. Was this something that was trained on Mann, or something she had taught herself to help keep her sane in the chaos of her homeland?

Time was of the essence at this point. Airmed was right: no one else was willing to help him. Ron and Hermione were no longer his friends as they once were, even if all of them were excellent actors around each other. Dumbledore was still ignoring him. Sirius and Remus were trying their best to help him, but neither of them could come to Hogwarts without raising attention.

He looked at Airmed again, as she raised her hand and waited for him to grab it. He had made his choice. There was no turning back. He took her hand and shook it. "Will you help to make me ready for the final confrontation, Sir Airmed Wolfshead, by any means within your power?"

"I do so swear, Harry James Potter. Until my dying breath, may I endeavour to make you ready to fight the Darkness and be the victor." Her royal blue magic making a cord around their hands, it bound them both to the oath.

Airmed smiled at him as she let go. "Harry, thank you." She exhaled sharply. "Now, I believe it is time to pay a visit to the goblins. They will be able to answer the question of your lineage." She held the door open for him. "Tomorrow, ask my Aunt Morgana for permission to leave the grounds during her class. Tell her it regards the prophecies. She'll understand."

"Who's Aunt Morgana?" Harry shook his head in confusion, tousling his black hair over his scar.

"She that was once known as Professor Minerva McGonagall, is in actuality Sir Morgana Lionsbeard, my paternal aunt. She'll understand. Now get to class."


	18. Put Money in Thy Purse

Just as Airmed had predicted, when Harry approached Sir Lionsbeard at breakfast (he still thought of her as Professor McGonagall from time to time, even though she dressed now in Manx regalia) and asked permission to leave the grounds, she granted it without a second thought. She even wrote up a small note to show Dumbledore and Umbridge if either of them questioned his whereabouts.

Dressed in jeans and a long-sleeved shirt instead of his school robes (he did not want to get caught with Hogwarts paraphernalia and risk getting asked more questions than completely necessary), Harry met Airmed by the castle's massive entrance doors. She was not dressed in her armor, but in black leather pants, knee-high boots, a loose blue-black tunic with her family emblem sewn on her breast, and her vambraces. With her white hair bound and braided high on her head, her brand was visible to those that could see it and knew what it meant. As always, her longsword was with her, this time belted at her side. Her scarred eye socket looked less frightening when she smiled at him.

"Did you get permission?" When he showed her the note, Airmed began to lead him out of the hall and down in the direction of Hogsmeade Village. "Good. We're heading to Gringotts. Have you travelled by dragon before?" She led him down the path from the castle, keeping a brisk pace that had Harry jogging to keep up with her.

"Not by choice." Harry remembered riding his Firebolt two years ago against the Hungarian Horntail. He still bore the scars from its tail on his arm. It was a reminder of how naïve he was, trusting 'Moody' like that. "Why? Won't it break several international laws riding by dragon? What if the Muggles see us?" That was the last thing he wanted, to break more laws and to get into more trouble with this wayward government.

"They won't, because this particular dragon has the knowledge to cast an invisibility spell once her rider has mounted her." With a toothy grin as they reached the edge of the hill leading to the village, Airmed stopped walking. Standing still, she summoned the light within herself and transformed into her dragon shape. She felt her bones change shape and her face elongate into a snout, her wings sprouting from where her human shoulder blades used to be. Flapping her wings as she settled to the ground, she turned her deep sapphire eyes towards Harry to gauge his reaction.

Harry stood in open-mouth shock as he took in the Airmed-dragon. This was a different form than the one at the Welcoming Feast in fifth year. This was a full-size dragon, black-blue scales shining out in the morning light. Unlike most European dragons in the Muggle books he used to read, her body was more streamlined for better travel against the wind. Her jaws were closed, but an ivory-white fang crept out underneath her nostrils. Behind her head was a fan-like ruff of blue-black scales with horns protruding from the ends. Along her spine were large ivory bone spikes, ranging from larger at the back of her skull to more slender ones along her tail, where at the end were a cluster of four or five to use like a club. Unlike the Horntail, her scales were smooth against her lithe body.

She carefully lifted a leg from the ground and laid it like a ladder against the ground, locking her knee in place. She looked at Harry as he stood still, making a motion with her face like she was raising her eyebrow. Gingerly, Harry climbed onto her leg and hoisted himself up. Unsure of where to grab, he held onto the spike nearest to her head, and held on for dear life as she pushed her body off the ground and took off on the wind.

The first couple minutes as he got adjusted to the movement of her shoulders in front of him and her wings behind him was frightening. Harry much preferred the streamlined gliding of his Firebolt. Without anyone watching, he let loose a couple of scared cries as she banked and barrel-rolled. He held on for dear life as she glided on the currents. However, after ten minutes of flight, the adrenaline of the trip had caught up with him and he began to thoroughly enjoy himself. He barely noticed how fast the time flew by until Airmed landed in Diagon Alley.

Her transformation was so quick and smooth, that she landed as a human with Harry's hand in hers to keep him on his feet instead of falling on his backside. Taking a quick look around, Harry saw that they had landed in front of Gringotts. He patted down his trouser pockets until he found the note with Sir Lionsbeard's writing. Just in case a Ministry official stopped him, he needed some assurance that he would not be potentially expelled again.

"Come on, Harry." Airmed let go of his hand and walked up the marble steps to Gringotts, her hand resting on the pommel of her sword. Her eyes kept forward, she was completely ignoring the stares and gasps as she walked by the witches and wizards. Some of them pointed to her face, others to her sword. Most stared at her like she was something that had walked out of legend. In a way, she was. Most wizards and witches had not learned or heard about the Knights of Mann since their ban two hundred years ago.

"Airmed, what are we doing here?" She did not stop walking until he caught up with her, and only then did she slow her pace. She looked briefly over her shoulder at him until she stopped at a specific goblin teller.

"Greetings, Pureclaw." Airmed brought her fist over her heart and tapped it twice against her breast. "May the gold of your ancestors always flow until the end of time."

"Ah, here is one who knows the old courtesies." The goblin teller placed his ledger aside and folded his hands on top of his desk. "May the blood of your enemies run cold at your presence." He nodded his head towards Airmed, but his eyes grew wide at the sight of Harry. "Ah, Mr. Potter. I was wondering when we would be seeing you at Gringotts. Come with me, the pair of you."

Airmed and Harry followed the diminutive goblin down a back hallway, its wall partitioned by doors. The quiet counting of coins were muted back here, leaving the halls filled with an unearthly silence. These must have been private offices. Pureclaw scratched one of his long fingernails on one of the heavy oak doors, and it opened of its own volition. All three entered the room. Pureclaw sat behind the carven desk, while Airmed and Harry sat in the two chairs in front.

"Now, Mr. Potter, before we start on the business at hand, we at Gringotts wish to understand something. Have you ever received letters from us in regards to the state of your vaults?"

"What letters?" Harry did not know what was happening, or what he was talking about. "I was supposed to receive letters?" His brow furrowed as he visibly attempted to decipher the question. "Why?"

"Your suspicions were correct, Madam Wolfshead, in this regard." Airmed nodded her head at the goblin. The disturbingly bleak black eyes of Pureclaw turned back to Harry. "Mr. Potter, ever since you were orphaned fifteen years ago, you should have received a monthly statement of your vaults and expenditures. When you were accepted into Hogwarts, you should have received a copy of your parents' wills. You also should have been receiving copious amounts of mail from your admirers over the last decade and a half." With a wave of his hand, Pureclaw summoned a stack of papers to his desk. "Now that you are here, we can begin to rectify this."

Over the next fifteen minutes, Harry signed and reviewed more papers than an average OWL exam. He was glad for Airmed's assistance and presence as he waded through the stacks of paperwork. As Conn had told him, she had studied both basic and advanced law during her training and could wade her way through the legalese that the goblins seemed to thrive on. She let him read it through and she helped to translate the sections that he could not fathom.

By the end of it all, Harry Potter the Boy-Who-Lived no longer existed. Now sitting next to the Manx Knight was Lord Harrison James Potter, Head of the House of Potter, Heir presumptive to the House of Black, and an emancipated minor in the eyes of the Ministry of Magic. This man sitting next to her had a fire in his eyes as he held the last piece of paper with a rather tight grip.

"As you can see, Lord Potter, these people have been accessing your vaults for quite some time now. Now, this is unacceptable and we apologize profusely for this mistake. We will rectify this mistake forthwith." The words did not really penetrate Harry's mind. He was still staring at the list of names in his hands, not completely comprehending the level of betrayal: Albus Dumbledore; Molly Weasley née Prewett; Ronald Weasley; Ginevra Weasley; Hermione Granger. All of them were withdrawing amounts from his trust fund vault: Dumbledore since the death of his parents, Ginny since the beginning of his second year, and the rest since the near beginning of first year at Hogwarts.

"Also, this marriage contract between you and Ginerva Weasley is now null and void since you have gained your majority and are now considered fully emancipated in the eyes of the Ministry of Magic. This was incorrectly filled out, to begin with." Harry sat back in his chair and placed a hand over his mouth, thinking about all of this. It was like a barrier of smoke and mist in his mind. None of this was real, a small section of his mind was telling him. This could not be real. Ron and Hermione had stolen from him? Mrs. Weasley? Dumbledore? Even Ginny? All of them had lied to him since the beginning? Was any of it real?

The other part of his mind was attempting to comprehend this turn of circumstances, and now past events were making sense. Ron and Hermione's distant behaviour and lack of willing friendship in the past could be contributed to them seeing him as a payday and nothing more. Ms. Weasley… why did she come to platform nine-and-three-quarters and start talking loudly about Muggles, if not to gain his attention? Why was she, at turns, smothering him with love and then lecturing him when he stated his own opinions? Dumbledore had siphoned off his money into several accounts, and those accounts were now being used to fund his pet projects. But Ginny was taking his money? That was something he did not expect.

"Harry." Airmed's calm voice penetrated the mist and smoke. "Harry, it's time." He felt a hand on his shoulder, gently shaking him from his reverie.

"Time for what?" Harry removed his hand from his mouth and stared at the goblin and Knight. "I beg your pardon. I was lost in thought."

"Pardon me, Lord Potter, but with your permission, we were going to perform a Line Ritual." Pureclaw looked between the two humans and sighed. "Madam Wolfshead was curious as to your heritage, since you have been kept woefully misinformed by your former magical guardian, Headmaster Dumbledore. However, we shall correct this mistake." From one of the drawers of his desk, he withdrew a long blade of dull-shining silver, a long scroll of parchment and an ornately carved bowl. With a ginger grip, he placed the bowl on his desk and held out a clawed hand. "If you would, Lord Potter?"

Not really knowing what else to do, Harry gave up his left hand to the goblin. Airmed sat forward on the edge of her seat, looking on but saying nothing. Pureclaw took a firm grip on Harry's wrist and sliced open his palm. Holding it over the bowl, Pureclaw let a dram of blood drain from the wound. As soon as he was satisfied, he gave Harry back his hand. With a flicker of her flames, Airmed healed him and watched the ritual occur.

With reverence, Pureclaw lifted the bowl to his shoulder height and spoke a lengthy Gobbledegook incantation. Unrolling the parchment with one hand, he let the blood drip onto the centre of the virgin scroll. Placing the bowl aside, Pureclaw waved a hand over the parchment and watched the blood begin to create a pattern.

All three witnesses watched as the blood created a crimson red spider web-like pattern before sinking into the parchment. All that were left were runic words spread out from the centre in three distinct groupings. Taking the parchment in hand, Airmed leaned closer to it and began to translate. "Potter Line. Evans Line (Muggle-Born). Heir of Line of Black. Friend of Line of Longbottom/Longwing." She pointed to a group near the bottom. "Line of Ravenclaw. Line of Gryffindor. Blood Enemy of Line of Slytherin."

"What?" Harry leaned forward and looked at the grouping on the page. He rued the fact that he never took Ancient Runes.

"Pureclaw, am I translating correctly?" Airmed passed the parchment back for a second opinion.

"Yes. That is correct." Pureclaw turned to Harry and bowed his head. "Lord Potter, it appears that your father's line is descended from the firstborn child of Godric Gryffindor and Rowena Ravenclaw. This grants you power over Hogwarts moreso than its Headmaster." Pureclaw spat that last word out. "Your line's blood enemy, the Line of Slytherin, has one remaining scion in the person known as Lord Voldemort. When he is dead, the feud will have ended. But there is more, Madam Wolfshead. Here." He pointed to the last grouping near the top of the page.

Airmed's lips moved as she translated the grouping before going white as a sheet. "This can't be right. These lines have been extinct for generations!" She leaned back in her chair, taking her turn now to think.

"Airmed, what is it?" Harry turned his head between the goblin and the Knight, trying to learn what had caused his ally to have such a reaction. Since Airmed was thinking, this left Pureclaw to answer him.

The goblin moved his fingers over the grouping. "Line of Griffinswing and Potterson." Pureclaw gently rolled the parchment up and handed it to Harry. "Lord Potter, if you so agree, I believe a trip to your vaults are necessary." Vanishing the blood from the bowl, Pureclaw carefully put it and the knife away. "Come with me, the both of you."

Leading Harry and Airmed back into the main bank, Pureclaw nodded to Griphook as he perched at his post. "I am taking Sir Wolfshead and Lord Potter back to his vaults. I want no interruptions, Griphook son of Ragnok. I will need the keys to vaults two, three, two-hundred sixty-eight, and six-hundred eighty-six through eighty-eight." The cashier's eyes grew wide, but he handed over the six keys without a word.

The roller-coaster ride into the depths of the vaults revealed a new side of Airmed. The thrill of the ride made her laugh and squeal in happiness, her hands gripping tight to the handlebars. When most people screamed in terror as the rickety mine-cart veered and banked on the dilapidated rails, she yelped for joy. As the cart stopped near the bottom of the track, she leaned back and sighed.

"Vault six-hundred eighty-eight." Pureclaw hopped out and walked to the vault door. Inserting the key into the lock, green mist smoked its way out into the mine passage. "This is the monetary vault of your parents, Lord James Potter and Lady Lily Potter nee Evans." Pureclaw stood away from the door and waved the two of them in.

Harry's eyes bulged as he took in the mountains of gold, the rivers of gemstones and silver. It filled the floor and almost touched the ceiling in some places. There was nothing else in sight. His vault- what Harry now knew to be his trust fund vault- was maybe a fifth of this size and not even a tenth of this magnitude of wealth. He could live off his for the rest of his life without ever having to find a job.

Airmed pushed a bag into his hands to fill up. "Harry, it's yours now. It's always been yours." It took him awhile, but he withdrew enough money and gems to fill the bag; doing some quick math in his head, Harry estimated that he had enough to pay for his last year of Hogwarts in the bag, if he planned to attend next year. If Airmed was still willing to take him on as a student, maybe he would not come back to Hogwarts. Maybe he would take a more active part in the war, as was his duty to the legacy of his father's line.

Without getting back into the cart, they walked up the rails to vault six-hundred eighty-six. Again, Pureclaw opened the vault, and then handed all of the keys to Harry on a gold chain. "Lord Potter, please keep a close eye on your keys. We do not give out extra copies."

"What are the other keys for?" Harry held up the keys to vaults two and three.

"Those are the keys to the vaults of Gryffindor and Ravenclaw." Pureclaw folded his hands in front of him. "Now, the paperwork will be completed for the wards on your mail to be lifted, and those responsible for robbing you will be held accountable to the fullest extent of our laws."

"No." Airmed stopped and stared at Harry with a wondering expression. "Just take the money back from them, and the key to my vault. Stop them from making any additional withdrawals. Send me a notification if they attempt to do so again. I will deal with them in my own time." Harry's voice was quiet, but firm. Strength radiated from him as he stood before his vault door. "My thanks, Pureclaw. Airmed and I will come out when we're ready." They walked through the door and took in what was waiting for them.


	19. A Little More Than Kin

This vault held no gold or gems. This was a massive cache of familial belongings, some of them dusty heirlooms that had not seen the light of day in quite some time. Bookcases filled the west wall from bottom to top of the two-storey room. Weapons and sets of armor filled the breadth of the north wall. Trunks were stacked against the east wall; as Airmed explored, they were filled with labeled potion ingredients and potted plants under stasis. In the centre of the room, sitting on a table, was a latched box. "Harry!" Airmed called him to the box, handing him the letter underneath it. "This is for you."

She placed her right hand against the table as Harry walked forward to look at the box and took the letter. His hands shook as he opened the folded paper. Airmed did not read it, but Harry's eyes watered as he realized what he was holding in his hands.

_My beloved son:_

_Harry, you should be reading this at your thirteenth birthday. If so, many happy returns to you, my son. If not, nonetheless, you are our son and we are both so proud of you. Something inside both James and I told us that we might not be there to celebrate this day with you, which is why I write this._

_Right now, you are playing with Remus and Sirius, your godfathers, in the garden, getting all muddy and dirty but having the time of your life. If only it could have remained like this forever, but your dad and I both know that sometimes hope can be a dangerous thing. However, it should never be taken for granted._

_That was our greatest gift to you, Harry: hope. Your father and I hope that you have had a good life, with love and caring. Somehow, I do not believe so. There is a doubt in my heart that looms like the shadows over the horizon. I fear that our wishes will be disregarded in order to fulfill this prophecy of Dumbledore's quest to destroy Voldemort._

_Harry, I will say this now: you are no ordinary wizard. Even if this prophecy that looms over your head were no longer in existence, you would still be unique. Your father told me last night after Dumbledore cast the Fidelius Charm with Peter as our Secret Keeper and they both had gone. You remember Peter, maybe? But I digress._

_Apparently, besides being one of the Noble Houses of magical Britain, the Potter line has many secrets. When you go to Hogwarts, you should have learned of the four Founders. You are a descendent of two of them, Gryffindor and Ravenclaw. But, there is something far more important than that. Harry, you are descended from Manx lines._

_Your many-times grandmother, a Knight and something James called a 'red robe' emigrated from the Isle of Man hundreds of years ago and married into the Potter Line, strengthening our magic. However, she did not tell about her life on the Isle, and so much of what she had to offer her line by way of knowledge was lost. If you ever get the chance, Harry, find a way to return. It may be the only hope for you to have a normal life, without the weight of this prophecy hanging on your young shoulders._

_Now we come to the box that this letter should have come with. If you open it, there will be three rings. They are the Line Rings of Potter, Gryffindor, and Ravenclaw. When you put them on, it means that you are the Lord of that particular line. Sirius wants me to add that, because he never plans on having children of his own and because he loves you like a son, that when you reach your majority (or if circumstances allow earlier) that he will make you his Heir. Once you put these rings on… well, some things should remain a surprise._

_Harry, never give up. My beloved Harry, there is so much for you to do in this world, but you fight for it. Fight with every fibre of your heart, and when you are exhausted, continue to fight. Whatever you choose to do, know that your father and I are proud of you. Your father wants me to add that he hopes you continue his legacy as a Marauder at Hogwarts, but he also says that if you win a Quidditch House Cup, then that will be just as fitting._

_We will always be with you, my son. We will never leave you. If ever you have doubts, talk to Remus, Sirius, Frank and Alice Longbottom, or Professor McGonagall. They are our closest friends, and will be glad to help you whenever they can if we cannot. Know that we both love you with every bit of our hearts and souls, and hope that you will never forget it._

_Mum and Dad_

_PS: Harry, this is your dad. Your mum and I wish that we can be with you, but like she wrote, we have a feeling that maybe we won't be. If we are not, know that whatever you do, you are my son and a Potter. You will be Lord of your line one day, but not until you are ready if I have my way. You should speak to Professor McGonagall if you have questions about etiquette in the wizarding world; she is a great source of manners and etiquette. Another person to talk to is your dog-father Padfoot: he is Lord of the Black Line to help you in learning laws and legal dealings._

_What your mother wrote earlier, about the Manx blood in your veins? It's all true, every word of it. Harry, in this time it is impossible to get on the Isle without help from a Knight, and if they are on Britain they are very well hidden. If you can, find one and get them to help you._

_Take care of yourself. If Moony and Padfoot are a part of your life, get them to teach you our legacy as Marauders if they have not already. Have fun, my son. Take each day as they come, and do not hide in shame of what your blood entitles you. You are my son, and I have never been prouder of you._

Harry was silent for the longest of times, re-reading the letter over and over again. This was the only thing he had of his parents, besides the photo album that Hagrid had given him four years ago. His mother wrote with a flowing hand, her letters written almost like calligraphy. His father had a scrawl like his own.

It was like another piece of his heart had broken as he tucked the letter into his shirt. Everyone, from Dumbledore to Snape to Aunt Petunia, said that he was like his father but with his mother's eyes, that he was his parents reborn. Sirius thought that he was his dad at times, but he was cultivating in him a sense of himself. No one ever told him that he was anything other than his parents, except, ironically, his parents from beyond the grave.

He turned to Airmed, a sense of anger in his heart that replaced the brokenness. "Tell me about the lines of Griffinswing and Potterson." He felt his eyes begin to glow with the fury slowly beginning to burn inside of him. "We are not leaving this vault until I understand what my blood entitles me."

Airmed stared at him for a moment, trying to read his face and his expressions. Her right hand reached out and traced out Harry's cheekbones. It was not romantic in nature, more like she was searching his features for something. She did not find him wanting.

"The Line of Griffinswing was one of the Ten Lines of Mann: one of the ten original families. The matriarch of the line, Aoife Griffinswing, was a black robe, the second of its kind. The line was so powerful because of inbreeding: children were married to first cousins to keep the lines pure. They were creators of powerful black and red robes, every one of them Knights.

"The Line of Potterson was noble in its own right, and no less prestigious. Their line served in the Royal Army as Knights mostly, and then as artisans when their service was over. Every once in a while, one of the line's scions would become a black robe. Magic ran strongly in them, yes, but they chose to manipulate their magical powers into creating things rather than for the fury of battle.

"There was a joining made between the two families when they served together and became line-friends. They would serve together as Knights, brothers and sisters-in-arms. The Griffinswing Line became the patrons of the Potterson artisans, catapulting their goods to the stage of valued heirlooms.

"Three hundred years ago, before the rise of Nudd and the exile from Britain, there was a union made between Ruadhan Potterson and Aife Griffinswing, two of the few children of their lines in that generation. Ruadhan was one of the less common type of mages of his line, a black-and-green robe of significant power. Aife was a red robe through and through, a rarity of her line at the time. Between the two of them, they had only one daughter: Eriu Griffinswing, the most powerful black-and-red robe of her time.

"It was she that founded the Griffin Squad in the Royal Army: a group of red and black robes under direct command of a black robe that were akin to the artillery strikes in warfare. Strong in both magic and physical warfare, they were often the deciding forces in a battle.

"Before the exile, both Aife and Ruadhan died in some struggle. Eriu left the Isle in grief, and she was never heard of again. The two lines died out after the exile in various fights and confrontations. If you are a scion of those lines, then you bear ancient and dormant magic in your veins. However, it will be yours to harness when you begin to train." She removed her hand from his face and nodded assertively.

"You have Manx blood flowing in your veins, Harrison James Potter. That makes you eligible to train as a Knight of Mann." Airmed nodded her head towards the north wall. "Now, I have sworn to help you to be ready to fight Voldemort. The only way that I know how is to train you as a Knight. You have magic, so you are also eligible for training as a mage. Now the question becomes," she extended her hand to him, "what will you choose?"

Harry had no idea what this meant. He only knew one thing: he needed help and Airmed was the only one offering without any hidden caveats. He took the extended hand, and then brought his hand up so that he grasped her forearm. "I choose the path of my ancestors."

"Good." She let go of his hand. "Put on your rings. I'm going to see what Sir Eriu Griffinswing left her many-times grandson to train with." There was a small smile on her face as she turned and walked towards the north wall of Harry's vault.

Harry turned back to the box of rings and opened the dusty bronze latch. There, just like his mother had written, were three rings resting on a bed of black velvet.

The first he picked up was his father's ring. A man's heavy ring of pure gold, it was set with a bas-relief instead of a gem. On closer look, it was two symbols bisected by a solid line: a blood red griffin, and two brown hawk feathers. As Harry picked it up and slid it onto his right ring finger, he felt himself begin to grow as soon as the ring settled on his finger. His bones threatened to break and his clothes almost tore from his frame. He wanted so badly to scream, and found that his voice was taken from him. The transient feeling of peace from earlier was momentarily replaced by a battle rage like he had never known, and was more permanently replaced with a sense of direction, of focus. It was over in a matter of seconds, like it had never happened.

The second ring to go on his hand was the Gryffindor signet. Unlike the Potter ring, it was a simple gold band with a rampant lion engraved on a flat surface. As that was slid on his finger, Harry felt his chest crack as he roared out loud with the might of the lion. Airmed never came to his aid, and he was glad for it. He felt his body twist and bend, almost like he was being pummeled against a washboard. Again, it did not last long.

By now, Harry was exhausted. His body was physically drained, and he wanted just to keel over and hit the floor. However, there was one last ring. With numbing fingers, he picked up the Ravenclaw signet (another bas-relief of a blue raven) and managed to slip it on his right index finger. His mind, this time, took the brunt of the beating. His brain was on fire, in peril of breaking in half. When it, too, was over, he let himself fall to the floor and the world go black.

Airmed knew exactly what was going on as she perused the wall of weapons and armor. She also knew not to interfere. This was the first of many trials that Harry was going to have to undergo if he was going to become a Knight of Mann. She had trained for fifteen years before she was even allowed the option of going her ordeal: Harry had only one year. There was no room for kindness or mollycoddling.

As she looked over the selection, she blocked out the screaming and the roaring. Instead, she focused on the wall and what it held for Harry's use. There was a reason why Eriu Griffinswing was one of the greatest battle mages of her time: she was well prepared for any event that was to come by her way. Once the exploration was complete, Airmed pulled down a sheathed longsword and an unstrung bow. Harry already had the quarterstaff from last year, if he still kept it. A quiver of arrows and a belt was next, followed by three tunics, tabards, pants, and gambesons in the deep golden tan color of the Griffinswing line. The last to be taken down was a set of chainmail, with its matching coif and war boots.

When she was finished, Airmed turned her attention to the bookcases. With gentle hands, she took out the written journals of Eriu Griffinswing; they would prove useful tools for Harry as he studied. At the base of the monolithic caches of knowledge, was a locked trunk, the Potter coat-of-arms emblazoned on its lid. Without knowing what was inside of it, Airmed simply took it and added it to the pile. Only when that was completely finished, did she turned back to the crumpled body of Harry.

"Harry." She knelt next to him and not so gently shook his shoulder. "Potter, wake up. No time for a catnap, not yet. Wait until we get back to Hogwarts, eh?"

Harry felt Airmed shaking him and moaned. There was no pain, not anymore at least. Instead, it was a constant throbbing in his right arm. Groaning, he opened his eyes and pushed himself off the ground with his left arm. "What happened to me?" His voice was deeper; he sounded similar to Donnchadh with the rumbling pitch.

Airmed did not answer him, not verbally at least. Instead, she passed him a small polished plate to serve as a makeshift mirror. Harry sat up a bit more, rubbing his hands on his face to help him wake. What he saw reflected back at him made his heart beat faster.

Whatever had happened to him when he put on all of the Line Rings was reflected back at him. Harry had gained at least twenty pounds of muscle and a good foot and a half in height; his clothes had ripped in several places. His scar had shrunk; you could barely see it against his now tanned skin. His glasses were knocked askew, but his vision was keen like hawk eyes without them. His eyes were a deeper green, less like freshly cut grass and more like leaves in a shadowed forest. His hair, still raven black, had grown long enough to be tied off his face. His features were still the same, but it was like he was a faceted gemstone now versus a rough-cut mined stone that he was before.

Without speaking, Airmed helped him to stand. His new muscles rippled as it contracted with the simple movement. He felt at ease with his new stature as he settled on his feet. Airmed handed him a set of Griffinswing clothes for him to exchange for his rags. Made for a woman of slender and tall build, Harry did some quick tailoring with wandless magic (he needed the practice, to work at the skill). It came easier to him, as if that ability had become unlocked when he put on the rings.

Slipping into his new clothes, he looked again at the mirror that Airmed had now conjured. The burnt gold color suited him, working well against the tan of his skin and the black of his hair and serving to bring out the brilliant green of his eyes. Against his right breast was sewn a salient black griffin, its wings out to his left side. The belt now around his waist held a dagger's sheath in place: an undyed deer-hide scabbard stamped with a griffin's wing feather and a small sun. Harry made to take the dagger out, but Airmed stopped him.

"You're not ready yet." She took his hand and gently placed it back at his side. "But you will be." She picked something up from the ground. "It will look better if you tie your hair back off your face. Later in training, you can choose if you want it long, cut, or shorn." With unsure fingers, Harry took the scrap from his old uniform and tied back his hair off his face.

She moved back to the pile of belongings that she had chosen from among the treasures of this vault. "Harry, take this." She passed him the locked trunk. Gathering up the weapons, journals, clothes, and mail from the floor, she shrunk them and placed them in her pouch. "Come, Lord Potter. It's time to go back to Hogwarts." As they opened the vault doors, Pureclaw was waiting for them. "When the Council adjourns tomorrow, you will sit by my side."

"I have no right to have a seat on the Manx Council." Harry spoke as they walked together to the trolley cart and climbed in. Airmed was quiet as they zoomed through the tunnels to the surface.

"You do, now that you have accepted the offer to train as a Knight and you have taken up the mantle of the Griffinswing line." Airmed waited until they were outside of the bank. "You will be trained by the best Knights Mann has. When the time comes, if you have proven yourself in all of the lessons and skills, you will be offered a chance to undergo the rituals of a black robe, just like your many-great-grandmother's line, or to specialize in another area if that is your desire."

"Will you be training me?" Harry began to sound nervous again. This was quite overwhelming now that it was beginning to sink in.

"Of course. But we can discuss it after Council." Airmed transformed into her dragon form and roared as Harry jumped on her back and they flew off, turning invisible as soon as they topped the buildings. Doubtlessly, they would make the front page of the _Daily Prophet_ tomorrow. But that would be tomorrow.

They arrived at Hogwarts in short time, landing just outside of the castle doors. With a draconic sigh, Airmed transformed back and let Harry get back to class, handing his shrunken belongings to tuck in his pocket. Everything was changed now. Nothing would be the same again.


	20. What's Done is Done

Harry was nervous as he got up the next morning. Before he got to his remaining classes yesterday, he transformed his Manx clothes into a new Hogwarts uniform. Sitting down, he heard the whispers around him: changing his clothes did not change his new looks. Keeping his head in his books, he tried to ignore them all and focus on the lesson at hand. Professor Flitwick was attempting to teach, or in Harry's case, review, the Aguamenti Charm. Hermione kept sending him not-so-discrete notes asking what happened to him in Transfiguration. Ron just glared at him, misfiring his charm and shooting Professor Flitwick in the face.

It was the same in Herbology and at meals: Professor Sprout wanted his help in moving pots after class, giving him some quiet time. She granted him points for being helpful before curtseying to him and called him, "Lord Potter". At dinnertime, people finally saw the rings on his fingers and began whisper more. Harry just ignored it all and went to bed. His newfound belongings all went into his trunk; he would deal with them in the morning with a clearer head.

When he woke up, he found a snake curled up on top of his pillow. His first reaction was to curse the animal, but the snake opened its mouth and Airmed's voice came out. "_Harry, the Council meeting is today after breakfast. Come to the Room of Requirement before breakfast with your chainmail: I'll help you put it on this first time. You will stand by my side and listen. Today is your first lesson."_ When the message was complete, the black snake uncurled and slithered onto the floor, crawling away into the shadows.

Nerves attacked him as he did as he was told. The sun had barely come up yet as he rummaged through his belongings for the chainmail. He remembered that Airmed wore layers underneath it, but he couldn't remember which ones. Sitting on his heels as he knelt before his trunk, Harry sighed.

"Need some help, Harry?" Harry turned to see Neville standing at his shoulder. He, too, had a snake message; his messenger was wrapped around his hand and hissing gently. "Come on, let's go."

"Are you coming, too?" Harry kept his questions vague on purpose: Neville said that he was from Mann, and yesterday's encounter had informed him that the Longwing line, Neville's line, were allies with his own. Still, with his last 'friends' turning out to be less than so, trust was hard to grant.

"Yes. Airmed sent me her message. Let's go." Harry gave up the struggle, and just brought his whole trunk with him.

On silent feet, the two boys walked through the deserted hallways of Hogwarts to the seventh floor. Harry was the one to open the Room of Requirement, asking the door for the place where Airmed Wolfshead dwells. When the door slid open, he wanted to turn his head away.

Airmed was laying in her bed still half-asleep, Niamh lying beside her with his arm draped over her hip. Both of them were so tired that even as they rested, their faces looked weary. Over the last month, they had worked nonstop between the people of Mann and the people of Hogwarts to make peace, and only now that she had threatened Umbridge with bodily harm was any of her labours coming into fruition. Harry almost did not want to disturb them, but it was too late.

"Close the door, boys. You'll let in a draft." Airmed's voice was soft, scratchy from sleep. She moved her head slightly, stretching her neck without disturbing Niamh too much. Both of them stirred under the light of the morning sun as it entered the room. Niamh's jaw audibly cracked as he yawned. Finally, after both Harry and Neville were both quite red in the face at the disruption of the peaceful moment between wife and husband, Airmed and Niamh looked at them both.

"Well, come on. We all must get ready." Airmed slipped out of the warm covers and walked over to the washbasin, undisturbed by the fact that she wore nothing but a thin tunic that was quite see-through. Harry and Neville both looked away until Airmed slid into a pair of pants, at least.

For the next half-hour, all four of them got ready in relative silence. Airmed and Niamh had to wash up, while Harry and Neville laid out what they thought they needed. Harry had never put on chainmail before; Neville had only once, but his grandmother made him take it off when he was caught.

"Now, here." Airmed and Niamh came out from their washroom, hair still damp and their skin wet. However, they were both wearing their long quilted jackets. "We'll show you what to put on, but you have to do most of it yourself. First, put on the quilted breeches and the thin tunic." Airmed lifted one of the sides of her jacket to reveal the thin tunic. Niamh placed a hand on her stomach, and she leaned back to kiss him chastely.

Harry struggled with it at first: he did not make a habit of dressing in front of a woman. Neville was fine with it, or if he was not, he did not make mention of it. "Next, is the gambeson." Niamh pointed to the quilted jacket that the boys had laid out on the table. As the Hogwarts boys slipped into the jacket, Airmed and Niamh showed them where to tie the front shut with a series of knots. After that, dragonhide boots went on their feet; Airmed told them that dragonhide was imbued with strength against magic and was practically impossible to destroy in battle, making it the perfect choice for battle gear.

"Now, this is the hard part for new wearers." Niamh took over the instruction and lifted up his set of chainmail into the air, shaking it out. "This style of chainmail is called a 'hauberk'. It covers your torso and all of your arms up to your wrists." Moving slowly, Niamh grabbed the bottom of the mail shirt. "Grab the bottom, and slide it over your head. As it slinks down, slip your arms into the sleeves before slipping your head through. You may have to pull down the chainmail around your chest; that's normal." As he gave out the instructions, Niamh and Airmed demonstrated as they went.

When the mail was slipped into place, Airmed came forward with Niamh standing besides her. "Pick up your coif and place it on your head so that it sits like a hood. There are three knots at the back and sides of your neck where it ties into place. Always get someone else to help you with these: it's simply easier. The knots you can do up are the ones along your arms. They will tighten the sleeves slightly and make it easier for you to move around. "

In silence, the four of them did up the knots. Harry's stomach was really starting to tighten in fear. This truly was really happening. He was taking matters into his own hands, taking them away from Dumbledore and the Ministry of Magic. That pit in his stomach was growing that he feared that he might sink into it and disappear. As he did up the last knot on his wrist, he had to pause because he felt that he might throw up.

A hand rested on his shoulder, lending him strength. It was Neville, looking formidable for the first time in a long time with the chainmail coif over his messy hair. It was the first time, Harry had noticed, but Neville had changed as well. No longer was he clumsy or stuttering. There was a sense of self-confidence that had been missing in Neville for as long as Harry had known him. Maybe it was the fact that he could be himself now, without fear of being persecuted for being of Manx descent.

A few deep breaths later, Harry was ready to continue. Airmed and Niamh simply watched and spoke nothing. These two were the last scions of line-allies; they were bonding now, and would continue to develop that bond with time.

Airmed cleared her throat quietly, gaining the attention of the two boys once more. "The last item is your tabard. Slip it on with the coif still on your heads. When it is on, push the coif off of your head. Then, we will all be ready."

As one, Harry and Neville grabbed the fabric from the table and slipped into it. Harry felt the weight of the hauberk and shifted his shoulders to distribute it more evenly across his back as he tugged at the tabard to sit straight. Airmed moved behind him and gathered his hair up into a horsetail; Niamh was doing the same for Neville. When all four of them were finished, they all looked the part of Manx knights.

Harry snuck a look at Neville. Standing straight, he was quietly tucking a short-handled axe into a holster at his belt. His tabard was a deep forest green, so deep that it appeared almost black. With silver thread, a dragon resting couchant sat waiting; the wings were folded in at the sides. Harry snuck a look at his hand: there, on his right ring finger, was his Line Ring: a dragon's head done as a bas-relief in silver.

Airmed looked at Niamh for a moment, and they both nodded. It was Niamh to speak now. "Neville Longbottom, of Longwing's line, it has been brought up that you, too, are in need of training. Will you accept my offer to train you as a Knight of Mann, to become a worthy Line Ally to Harrison Potter, now Griffinswing?"

Neville did not even need time to think about it. The decision was made plain on his face. Placing a fist over his heart, he bowed first to Niamh, and then to Airmed. "I accept this honor, Sir Firebird."

Airmed and Niamh both smiled, but Airmed spoke next. "Come. The time for the Council is upon us, and I wish to eat beforehand, as I'm sure the rest of you do as well." A rumbling from Harry's stomach broke the somber atmosphere, sending all present into mild chuckling fits.

As they all walked down to the Great Hall, the writhing in Harry's gut returned full-force. This was a chance for him to do what he wanted, and not follow the wishes or orders of others. But, what if he was discovered by the one of the teachers there, or any of his old friends? What would their reaction be like? What if…

A hand grasped his shoulder, giving it a little squeeze. Like before, that little gesture was all that was needed to calm Harry's mind. He looked over at Neville, and both of them nodded their heads. If they did not actively seek out their Hogwarts comrades, and kept their heads down, then everything would work out.

Most of the students had already left by the time the four of them got down to the Hall. There was a low rumble of Manx and Gaelic as the remaining knights greeted each other like old friends. At the top of the Ravenclaw table, giant maps had been laid out. With a lazy wave of her hand, Airmed moved the rest of the tables against the wall; at the same time, she summoned a plate of breakfast to hand and began to eat.

Harry and Neville did the same, but their motions were more crisp and precise; wandless magic was still new to Harry, and Neville was out of practice. However, this was a skill that they needed to master before they could be considered mages.

"Harry, Neville, let me introduce you to the leaders and commanders of the Manx armed forces. Most of them are also going to be your teachers." Niamh made them drop their plates and walk around with him.

Over the next half hour, the two young mages-in-training met ten knights that would help them with their training. This, Harry took as a test to remember faces and names for future reference. Some were familiar to him, like Sir Conn Elderson, the commander of the armed forces and the headmaster of the Aurorian Academy, and Sir Donnchadh Strongarm, who was the second-in-command. The rest… the rest were new faces amidst the masses of Manx migrants.

First was Sir Torniach Bearclaw, who Niamh referred to as the leader of the Raven Squad. Remembering Conn's telling of Manx life, Harry knew that the Ravens were elite archers. Looking at Torniach, Harry saw a man with bulging arms and a thickly-muscled chest, but the man was smiling lightly as Niamh introduced them. His hazel eyes shone with a light that was hard to describe, but the scars under the salt-and-pepper blonde stubble belied his light nature. His family symbol was a deep chestnut-brown bear paw on a green tabard.

Next to be met were the three commanders of the soldiers: three brothers, in fact. The Oakheart triplets were identical, down to the same white stripe of hair running from their temples into their short horsetails. Even the expressions on their ivory-toned faces and in their oak-leaf green eyes were the same. The only difference between them all was the colored trim on the collar of their tabards. Sir Aiden Oakheart, the infantry commander, wore a gray trim. Sir Ferghus Oakheart, commander of the archers, wore white trim around his neck. Sir Rian Oakheart, the cavalry commander and by all accounts the youngest of the triplets, wore a bright red trim. Their tabards were black, proudly displaying an oak-leaf on their front.

The next two knights were women, standing near the table and conversing quietly with Sir Morgana Lionsbeard. Sir Lionsbeard peered up from the maps to smile slightly at Harry; even his new wardrobe could not fully disguise him from his Head of House. The two women saw that Sir Lionsbeard's attention was drawn elsewhere, and they turned to look.

"Harrison Griffinswing, Neville Longwing, I have the honor of introducing you to Sir Sorcha Greenblood, chief healer and the leader of the blue robes, and one of Airmed's foster-mothers." Sir Greenblood's blue eyes were like ice, but there was a small smile tucked away as she pushed a lock of gold-blonde hair out of her eyes. Harry recognized the woman as the same one that shook her head over Marcus Wolfshead, declaring him too far gone for healing. Somehow, the weariness in her eyes belied his assumption that she probably had much experience doing this during however long her service had been. Her symbol was a silver caduceus on a Slytherin green tabard; over it was a robe of deep blue velvet.

"And this is Sir Gwyn Longwing, leader of the green robes." Neville's mouth dropped slightly as he took in the hazel eyes that were a twin to his, the tightly plaited brown-black hair, and the same narrow face.

"Are you…" Neville found that he couldn't speak.

"Descended from Niall Longwing, father of Aderyn Longwing, yes." The woman was blunt, to the point. "Your many-times grandsire was brother to my many-times grand-dam." She took a step forward and grabbed Neville's chin, taking a closer look at him. "It looks like you have much training to catch up on, but remember that you are a Longwing… you are my cousin. I will not let you fail." Neville tensed for a moment, a grim smile on his face. "Neville, little one… relax." Gwyn smiled at him and let go of his chin. "You will do this, and when you come to Mann, we can be a family again." A quick embrace between the two of them, and Niamh had them moving on.

The last two knights were standing against the wall discussing something with Prof. Flitwick- Harry corrected himself, Sir Quicksilver. The tall gangly one leaning against the wall had darkly tanned skin, and dark hair and eyes. As he turned to face Niamh for his introduction as Sir Lugh Lynxclaw, Donnchadh's second in command and the leader of the red robes, Harry took note of the four claw marks running across his face: they looked red and fresh, but they were not bleeding. His sigil was a blood-red lynx head on a tan tabard. Like Sir Greenblood, a cloak was pinned around his neck, but his was blood red to match his sigil.

The other man could have been a younger male version of Sir Lionsbeard: a gaunt face, grey-blonde hair that was frizzy and out of control in his horsetail, and deep blue eyes. His rapid discussion in Manx with the goblin knight was interrupted with a smile and a word. Sir Gwydion Lionsbeard was his name, and he was the first to shake hands with Harry and Neville. The sigil emblazoned on his pea-green tabard was a bright yellow lion's head. Niamh added that Sir Lionsbeard was the leader of the yellow robes, and one of the few mages that refused to wear his robe.

As the two mages-in-training finally sat down to eat, the doors to the Great Hall slammed open. All of the knights present stood at attention and placed their fisted hands over their hearts, bowing from their waists. Harry and Neville were slow to follow, but they mimicked the motion.

Three pairs of feet walked before the knights and commanders, as Harry peeked out around him. He heard quiet talking and greetings until the feet stopped before him.

"Rise, sons of Mann." A female voice told them. Hesistantly, Harry rose; the gravity of the situation was still playing a number on his nerves.

Airmed appeared at their sides like a ghost. "Harrison Griffinswing, Neville Longwing, make yourself know to Their Royal Majesties, King Nuada Eaglewing and Queen Ethne Druidson, and to His Royal Highness, Prince Fionn Eaglewing." Her presence radiated calm, but at the same time, there was happiness. Remembering Conn's story, Harry realized that two more of Airmed's foster parents were standing in front of him.

Harry and Neville both kept their fists over their hearts as they looked at the sovereigns before them. For the first time, Harry held the attention of two monarchs. This scenario was not like meeting Fudge for the first time… no. This moment held far more gravitas than that. Unlike Dumbledore and his twinkling eye or Fudge and his bumbling pomposity, these two were serious and down-to-business.

Neville acted first. "Your Majesties." He nodded his head towards them, not lowering his eyes from their gazes. "Your Highness." Turning ever so slightly, he addressed the prince and repeated the same small gesture. Harry mimicked his motions carefully.

"By the skies above, Wolfshead, you would think that this is a funeral!" The young prince addressed Airmed as a friend, embracing her. Prince Fionn bore the features of both his parents, favouring neither over the other. The dark brown curls of his father were tied back into a horsetail; a small silver circlet kept them at bay. The forest green eyes of his mother shone out with a gleam of glee. A narrow face held the expressive mouth of both of his parents, which was currently smiling. "Niamh, my friend!" The two men embraced each other, slapping their backs.

"Harrison, Neville, rise." King Nuada addressed them both, a tired smile on his face. "There is no need to be formal today. That can wait for another time." He looked to Airmed before turning his gaze back to the two young men. "I understand that you have embraced your Manx heritage, Neville Longwing. But you, Harrison… you claim to have the Griffinswing blood in your line?"

Airmed proffered a scroll to the King; Harry recognized it as a copy of the one that Pureclaw had given him, one that laid out his ancestry. All of them: the King, the Queen, and Prince Fionn stared at the scroll, studying it for a moment. There was no talking among any of the individuals until the King stared back at Harry. "You are the green lightning?"

"Yes, milord." Harry pushed back some of the hair that had fallen onto his forehead, revealing the lightning bolt scar and his green eyes. "The prophecies are coming true. The war will end soon." He made his voice stronger than what he felt, showing none of his fears.

There was a round of cheering from the gathered knights. Even Conn and Donnchadh were smiling. This was good news to relieve the grief still fresh from the funerals. Only when the Queen lifted her hand did the noise desist.

"It is our understanding, Harrison and Neville, that you wish to train as mages and knights, but that you, Harrison, will fight alongside Airmed Wolfshead on the autumnal equinox next year?" Harry nodded his head. "Well, then. We have no time to waste."

From around her neck, Queen Ethne brought out two necklaces; as she draped them around the necks of Harry and Neville, they saw a small hourglass dangling in the middle. "These are the original Time-Turners; they were created long before the first schism. Your Ministry of Magic was barely out of swaddling cloths when they were created." She looked them both in the eyes, her green stare intense. "You will attend both the lessons that the knights will give you, and those of your teachers here at Hogwarts. If you fail to give all that you have to any of this over the course of the year, then you will be considered unfit to undergo your trials. There will be no second chance: Airmed will keep watch over both of you. If you receive disciplinary action from any of your teachers, or if any of your assignments fail to meet the minimum expectations of any instructor, then you will not undergo your trials. Is this understood, here and now, before your instructors?"

Harry answered first. "By land and sea and sky, by the gods above and below, by the strength of my blood, I, Harrison Griffinswing-Potter, swear this." His magic began to flame a vivid green around his hands as he bowed to the Queen. "I swear to perform all tasks given to me by my instructors and my professors to the best of my ability until the end of this school year. I swear to not complain, to not shirk, and to not argue with my instructors or professors or fellow students. By my will, so mote it be." He used words similar to those that Airmed used in her oath to Iseult Blackone, making this oath his own.

Neville followed, using a similar oath. However, there was one major difference. He called himself, "Niall Longwing, once Neville Longbottom-Longwing." With words and his intents, he embraced his Manx heritage, that which had long been denied him, with an open heart. The King and Queen looked at each other and nodded their heads. "We accept these oaths, Harrison Griffinswing-Potter and Niall Longwing."

Airmed's smile was deep as she leaned against Niamh, looking onto her protégés. "Dumbledore must not know of this, nor that you are present at this council meeting." She waved her hand over them, casting an invisibility charm over them both. "Stand by the table. Say nothing, but watch what happens. This is your first lesson: observation without disruption."

The knights and monarchs gathered around the table. Airmed spoke up. "The others will be here shortly. They wish to make an impression upon our hosts." King Nuada chuckled, before raising his hand. The doors opened, and the Council began.


	21. The Most Unkindest Cut of All

Harry took careful note of who walked through the door and approached the Ravenclaw table, and the reaction of the Manxmen. Airmed, discretely, moved closer to the table, her hand on the pommel of her sword. Dumbledore was leading the queue of people, his bright orange and yellow robes blinding to the eye. Behind him were Minister Cornelius Fudge, Professor Umbridge, and a squad of Aurors, their hands openly on their wands; Harry recognized Tonks and Shacklebolt from the Order of the Phoenix among the five. Umbridge was wearing a scowl on her face, that infernal clipboard in her hands. Behind the representatives from the Ministry, was Remus Lupin. Harry's heart nearly broke at the sight of Moony: his robes were very threadbare, his face was far more lined and weary, but he still had a thin smile on his face.

They came towards the table, and Airmed detached herself from the Manxmen to make the appropriate introductions. King Nuada looked at all of them, but it was Queen Ethne and Prince Fionn that bore stony faces. Two years ago, these people were symbols of the institution that had nearly destroyed Mann and its people. Now, they were part of an alliance, tenuous at best, but an alliance nonetheless.

Fudge, his bowler hat in hand, walked forward in front of Dumbledore. "Your Majesty, it's a honor to meet you." Five of the knights had hands on their weapons faster than an eye's blink when Fudge raised his hand for the king to shake. Donnchadh raised a hand and looked at them to stand down. Knowing his mistake right away, Fudge lowered his hand and looked bashful.

Defusing the situation right away, King Nuada leaned across the table and reached out his own hand, returning the innocuous gesture. "Minister Fudge, it is my pleasure to meet you as well. I understand that you were involved with Sir Wolfshead's negotiations last year. I thank you for the… generous hospitality that you and your administration shown her."

"Will this be starting soon?" Fudge, the look of ill ease off his face at the amiability of the king, asked. He looked around for a chair to sit.

"In a few moments. We are waiting for the last of the representatives to arrive." Queen Ethne spoke with a light voice, belying the steel at her side. A dull roar filled the air, as if coming from a distance. A smile crept onto her face. "Ah! They are fast approaching." She looked to the gathered British wizards. "You may wish to move."

Umbridge's mouth seemed to form a question, but a thundering roar overwhelmed her words. The stones of the floor seemed to shake as Harry's gaze turned back to the entrance.

A dragon, easily greater than the size of the Hungarian Horntail that Harry faced two years ago, flew into the hall. Opening its maw, it let loose a roar that made the glass reverberate and the tapestries shake. Its scales were as black as night with little crimson flecks that looked like blood spray, making him frightening to behold. Its wings folded against its side as it landed to the floor, revealing bony spikes along its spine. The ivory claws were sharp as steel, leaving massive scratches in the stone floor where he walked. Harry got a quick look at its eyes: they were red-black like the rest of it.

Beside him, a griffin made a far more graceful landing. Its body was roughly the size of two Clydesdale stallions, as it tucked its wings at its side. The eagle's head, wings, and neck were a dull silver color, merging flawlessly with the grey fur of the lion's body. Keen gold eyes stared out at the crowd with an imperious gaze.

Around them, twelve men and women walked into the hall. However humanoid their appearance, they were not human. As they walked closer, Harry saw cat's eyes, pointed ears, and a grace not present in a normal human. They were garbed in silver plate armor, iridiscent accents gleaming against the pale of their skin and the glow of their white hair. As they peered at the humans gathered, Harry saw eyes of blue, purple, green, red, orange, even the golden yellow of Niamh. He was so enraptured by their unnatural beauty that he almost revealed himself. Airmed bumped into him as she moved, reminding him of the lesson at hand.

Airmed walked forward and placed a hand on the dragon's chest, craning her neck to stare up at its head. The griffin cawed at her, and held her under its wing for a moment as she welcomed it. "Please, allow me the honor of introducing Ferrovax, he that is eldest of the dragons, **Airgead-Sciathán**, the matriarch of the griffins, and the Queens and Kings of the Seelie and Unseelie Courts. All have been our allies over the centuries, and all have been affected by the war."

Minister Fudge looked beyond frightened at the sight of the massive creatures, but Umbridge looked furious. Her lips were pursed so tightly, that the white of her skin seemed to go translucent with rage. None of the Manxmen acknowledged that.

When all had gathered around the table, Queen Ethne raised her hand. "In the name of land, sea, and sky; in the name of Danu, mother of the gods, and of Manannan mac Lir, I declare this council begun. May Ogma bless us with eloquence of speech and Brigid bring us inspiration. May we each leave with lightened burdens and clear directions. By our wills…"

"…Our wills be done." To a man, every knight present bowed his or her head and closed their eyes. The British people present looked quite perturbed by the act, like they did not understand. Harry understood: in magical Britain, there was no overriding religion or spiritual beliefs. To witness a group of men and women come together and pray like this, to believe in a higher power, was not quite within their comfort zone.

King Nuada was the first to lift his head, his storm-grey eyes staring straight into Fudge's squirming expression. "First to be addressed, is the thanks that we owe Cornelius Fudge and his government, for allowing us and our people to remain here until we can reclaim our home." Fudge looked quite relieved at the comment, going so far as to preen a bit. When Nuada's face turned to stone, that all changed. "However, we would address the current treatment of our people. This decree set out by your High Inquisitor regarding our weapons and the registration of our people…" He placed both hands on the table, leaning forward a bit to emphasize his point. "It would be a shame if we were to consider this an act of undue aggression on your part."

The hall erupted into noise from the Ministry representatives. Dumbledore, Fudge, Umbridge, and the Aurors were all trying to talk at once, trying to make themselves be heard. Only when Ferrovax opened his maw and roared once more, did silence reign again. Not one of the Manxmen reacted to the bellow or the noise preceding it; in fact, they were like stone statues. Airmed placed her hand back on Ferrovax's chest.

"Ferrovax tells me that all of this noise solves nothing. Our hatchlings are still in danger, and if we are to survive, we must set aside our hate and work as one for the time being." Airmed's voice got deeper, more guttural, as she spoke with Ferrovax's voice. As soon as she removed her hand from his chest, her voice returned to normal.

Nuada and Ethne nodded to Ferrovax, and turned back to Cornelius; a look of fright had come across the Minister's face as he collapsed to the floor. Nuada walked around the table and helped him to his feet, before moving back. "Cornelius: for the time being, we are allies. We have upheld our end of the agreement: we have sectioned ourselves into Hogwarts. We have not spread throughout Britain, Scotland, or Wales. We have not preached about the old ways, the old religions, or the ban. However, you have passed legislature making it mandatory for us to register with the Ministry? To give up our weapons? To have a tracking spell placed on us while we were on Hogwarts ground?" He shook his head. "You are going to revoke these legislatures, or we will go before the International Confederation of Warlocks and submit before that august body that you have declared war upon us." Nuada leaned forward. "We are a battle-hardened people, Cornelius, and you will lose if you attempt to fight against us. Instead," he took a deep breath, visibly calming down, "allow us to stay until Samhain of next year, and then you need never worry about the Manxmen ever again. We will return to the Isle, and we will never disturb you or your Ministry again."

Fudge looked nervously to Umbridge and his Aurors before nodding his head. "You have my word. The legislation will be revoked."

Nuada's smile was grim. "Thank you. Now, you may go."

"Excuse me!" Umbridge, it seemed, had finally had enough. "This is the Minister of Magic! You will show him the proper respect!"

Airmed chuckled, placing her scarred hand on the table. "I'm sorry, Madam, but respect is earned, not demanded." She looked to her King and Queen, looking for their silent permission. "Minister, the rest of the Council is in regards to matters of Manx affairs. They are not problems for your Ministry."

"You will be silent, you stupid girl!" Umbridge did not see Ferrovax growling, or many of the knights reaching for their weapons. "I knew what you were the moment you began making trouble in my class: a pathetic orphan without a hope for a friend in the world. You and your people are an infection on proper British society!"

That was enough. King Nuada lifted his hands from the table and began to summon wind between his hands. The wind began to grow in strength, until he pushed the gale towards the British officials and blew them out of the main hall. The sheer ferocity of the force slammed the oak doors behind them.

Harry's jaw dropped. That was a serious display of magic, revealing that King Nuada was, at the very least, a grey robe. What was more, they were not going to receive any help from the Ministry in this last fight.

Dumbledore turned to King Nuada and Queen Ethne, a sad look on his face. "Your Majesty… would it not have been better to forgive and negotiate? As Ferrovax so boldly stated, we must work as one for the time being." He peered over his glasses, that twinkle in his eye muted but still shining.

"Dumbledore, you were invited to this Council as an observer. You have no say until you are invited to have a say." That was Queen Ethne, the steel in her voice almost as sharp as the blade as her back. "There is a difference between negotiation and laying down and letting those at the table simply walk over us. We are free men and not criminals, and we will not stand idly by and allow our rights to be taken away from us like we are common thieves."

Thus began the true meetings of the Council. Harry stood next to the table as the Manx knights and their rulers dissected battle strategies for the autumnal equinox next year: everything, from placement of specific troops to where those unable to fight would be hidden, was discussed. It was agreed that all of the Hogwarts students were to be locked in their dormitories: they had no place in this fight.

Ferrovax and **Airgead-Sciathán **all spoke with Airmed as their mouthpiece. As she spoke for them, her voice would change. With Ferrovax, it was deep and rumbling, like stones rubbing together. With the mother of the griffins, her voice became like a breeze, airy and almost hollow in a way. Airmed's eyes would change with each of the translations. With Ferrovax, her eyes would become red with black sclera. With **Airgead-Sciathán, **her eyes would turn into golden cat's eyes.

The running theory was based off their most recent intelligence. Iseult Blackone and Voldemort were entering into negotiations with each other, aiming to work together. The autumnal equinox duel was becoming the date and place for the battle between dark and light, good and evil: this was when it was going to come together.

Niamh turned to Dumbledore halfway through the talks. "You mentioned a way to destroy Voldemort through your correspondences with Airmed. What is it?" Harry saw that the stress of the planning was getting to him: Niamh looked like spending the next week in bed sleeping might dent the shadows under his eyes or the general weary look that he gave off.

The Headmaster shook his head. "That is something that only Harry Potter can do. I have only theories, but there is no way possible for a spell to kill Voldemort."

Sirs Lugh Lynxclaw, Gwydion Lionsbeard, and Sorcha Greenblood stood together over a piece of parchment. "Tell us what your theories are, at least, Headmaster. We might be able to come up with a way." With rapid flicking of quills and random spraying of ink from excited writing, they wrote down what little Dumbledore had to offer. Eyebrows furrowed as they exchanged Manx mutterings trying to decipher the puzzle. "Well, it's a start, at least."

Prince Fionn turned to the Queens and Kings of the Sidhe, as they stood next to the table. During the discussions, the Sidhe Lords and Ladies had contributed largely to the intelligence gathering, but their troops played a vital role in the defense of Hogwarts. "Your Majesties, is there anything else that you might like to add before Council is adjourned?"

"Yes, young prince." One of the Queens of the Unseelie Court came forward to act as their spokesman. "We find that these plans will work, but we will need utmost secrecy, in the event that the Black One has planted a spy in our midst. Therefore…" With a wave of her hand, purple motes flew to each of the Manx humans at the table, pushing themselves into their foreheads. "There… now that we have searched your intentions, the magic of the Sidhe Courts will shield your minds."

As she turned to Dumbledore and Remus, she sneered at Dumbledore but became gentle with Remus. She walked towards him, placing a hand under his chin to look him in the eyes. "You believe that you are cursed, lycanthrope. However, your strength will only increase if you accept the wolf inside of you. He will make you stronger, faster, healthier. It is a choice that you must make, but know that being a werewolf is not evil. Those that bit you as a youngling… they were evil. Control the beast, and control yourself." With that, the six Sidhe walked through the door.

Ferrovax and **Airgead-Sciathán **both flew out the doors soon after, presumably returning to their clans. As the knights began to leave, Airmed spoke up. "Remus Lupin, will you please stay for a moment? I have something to ask of you." Looking uncertain, Remus stayed at the table.

With a wave of her hand, Airmed undid the concealment spell on Harry and Neville. Neville left the Great Hall, following after his aunt. Harry stood beside Airmed, looking at Remus' shocked expression.

"Harry…" Remus' mouth moved as if to speak, but no sound came out.

"Hello Moony." He smiled nervously, as he looked at the two remaining reminders of his parents. "Did Padfoot come with you?"

"Hi, pup." A disembodied voice talked near the table, as an Invisibility Cloak fell from Sirius. "You look… better." That pause in the sentence made Harry begin to think, but he kept the thoughts to himself.

"Sirius Black, Remus Lupin, on behalf of Their Majesties, I offer you asylum on the Isle of Mann upon the conclusion of this war." Airmed stared at the both of them with the same look when she told Harry that there was a prophecy about him. "Both of you are allies to Lord Harrison Griffinswing-Potter, and both of you, it seems, have been maltreated by the British magical government. In addition, you both have claims to Manx lineage. Therefore, please consider this alternative."

Both Sirius and Remus looked at each other with abject shock on their faces, before turning that look towards Airmed. "What?"

Airmed looked at Harry, confusion written on her face. "Was I not being clear enough?" Harry checked her over: she was being completely honest.

Harry turned to his dogfather and his closest adult friend and tried again. "You two have always been there for me. You two are the ones that I turn to for help: not the Order, not Dumbledore, not even Ron and Hermione. Airmed is offering you a chance to live on Mann, with me."

"When are you moving to Mann?" For once, Sirius was living up to his namesake.

"I decided that when I learned my heritage. Speaking of, Sirius…" Harry turned his gaze to his godfather. "When were you going to tell me that I was your heir?" Sirius turned red with embarrassment. "I found my parent's letters, Sirius. Why did you not tell me?"

"Because…" Sirius' shoulders slumped. "Dumbledore told me not to. He convinced me to swear an oath until the end of the war. He wanted you to be a kid for as long as you could before the burdens would stack up with multiple Lordships."

Harry shook his head. He had feared this. "Well, I do know. The offer still stands." He raked his fingers through his hair, trying not to reveal anything but failing. "You two are the only family I have left." He took a deep shaky breath.

Airmed placed a hand on his shoulder, lending him her strength. "Sirius Black, of the Blacksun line of Mann, and Remus Lupin, of the Moonbright line, please consider my offer. You have until the duel on the autumnal equinox to decide."

Turning her back on them, she led Harry out of the hall. She looked to him. "Well, ready to begin?"


	22. Let Not Advantage Slip

**AN: Damnu ort! Many apologies to my readers for the extended lack of updates. I have the next few chapters written, so please expect some regular updates this month. Writer's block is a bitch, but vacations certainly help.**

**Last chapter was the end of the second part of this story. Following logic, this is the beginning of the third and final part of 'Knight of Mann'. I want to thank all of you that have read this, those that have reviewed and those that have not, for your patience and for your input.**

**Please enjoy, the next chapter of 'Harry Potter and the Knight of Mann".**

*HPatKoM*

Summer had come once again to Number 4 Privet Drive, and Harry Potter, now seventeen, was bored. Unlike the disciple and structure of the last seven months, returning back to his room here was… well, boring. Everything remained the same here. Uncle Vernon was still an employee of Grunnings, disgruntled and discontent with his lot in life, and especially leery of his wizard nephew. Aunt Petunia still sneered at him as she split her time between spying on the neighbours and scoffing at any miniscule specks of dirt in her ultra-clean domicile. Dudley was still an obese bully, content for ripping off pence from small children and acting like a right wanker.

The only one to have changed over the course of the last year was him.

Gods, had it truly been only seven months since the Council had convened? It felt like it was a lifetime ago. If he came across himself at the beginning of last year as he was now, he would not recognize himself. As he turned to look in the mirror, Harry saw his proof.

With the acceptance of his inheritances, Harry had gained the physique and stature that he should have had without the malnourishment and mistreatment from the Dursleys. Where once he was five-foot and thin for his age, almost to the point of looking feminine, he was now six-foot-four and muscled. It was not to the same degree as, say, a professional body builder or a wrestler, but he had the build of a blacksmith or a carpenter. His shoulders and were broader and corded, leading to a torso and back that was minimally scarred and tight over top the muscles that moved as he moved. His arms and legs were thick from constant exercise and fighting.

His face was different was well, a better gauge for the changes that had happened to him. His eyes no longer required the aid of glasses, but they were overshadowed by something un-nameable and almost somber. His hair was ragged at the end from no haircut for a long time, but it was long enough to touch the middle of his shoulder blades when it was tied back at the nape of his neck. In addition to the tanned look of his skin, many girls did constant double takes and catcalls as he walked the halls in Hogwarts.

However, he had lacked many things in the beginning. Chief among them, were endurance and stamina, as well as practice practically applying the knowledge of the last five-and-a-half years of schooling. That was where his lessons with the Manxmen came in hand.

Training with the Manxmen was… there were no easy words to describe it, but intense and arduous were the best choices. Every day after supper, Harry went into an alcove and used the Time-Turner that Queen Ethne had given him. Going back twelve hours into the past, he would head into a different direction.

One of him would head to his lessons with his Hogwarts professors. He threw himself into his lessons with vigour, absorbing all that he could. His hand, by the end of the day, was cramped and sore from the level of notes that he transcribed. Ron constantly complained that he was 'pulling a Hermione' when Harry would skive off a match of chess or Exploding Snap to go to the library and brush up on theories. In addition to his NEWTs next year, Harry also had his oath to uphold: he gave his best effort in every class and assignment, and nothing less. If he got back his graded work and he had received a low grade, Harry went back to his teachers for private tutorials on where he had erred. Every teacher, even a begrudging Professor Snape, commended him on his continued outstanding work ethic.

His favourite classes quickly became those taught by Manx professors and the only resident **cara Mann** on staff. Sir Lionsbeard, Sir Quicksilver, and Professor Snape all knew that he was undertaking training with the Manxmen as well as going through their classes. Even still, they refused to relent in their courses. If anything, they pushed him harder than any of the other students. If he sought their help after class, they would give it as well as supplying additional lessons. As this continued, Professors Sprout, Sinastra, and Burris began to do the same. His spare periods, once filled with the electives but now empty, became time to incorporate all of his extra-curricular academia. If he had not had these, he probably would have gone insane.

When Hermione found out about his pursuit of additional studies, she was so happy for him. That happiness eventually faded as he began to eclipse her in the assignments. Apparently, she still clung to a hope that he would continue to rely on her for assistance, because he certainly was not as smart as she was. When that proved not to be the case, Hermione grew abrupt with him and kept their conversations to the required minimum. Harry honestly did not care.

With the increasing amounts of time that Harry spent learning, he ran out of time for Quidditch, and eventually gave it up. Ron and Ginny blew gaskets when he announced that to the team. Both of them demanded reasons for his decision, and declared him a traitor and the reason that Gryffindor would lose the House Cup after five solid years. Again, Harry could not find it in him to place much importance on a fictitious challenge that would gain him nothing during the course of the war. He ignored their glares and their viperous remarks, many times being too tired to raise enough energy to put about a reasonable effort.

The other Harry proceeded to his lessons with the Manxmen. They would change every day, with no real discernible schedule. However, they were brutal.

Along with Neville, Harry worked himself to the bone. Just as the Queen had promised, there was no leniency made for Harry's age or abilities. Before he even had breakfast, he exercised with Sir Firebird and Sir Bearclaw: laps of running and jogging, various sets of push-ups, sit-ups, and chin-ups, and stretching regimes to increase his flexibility. Afterwards, he would sup with the knights, who always ensured that he ate properly and drank lots. After that, would come lessons.

In the morning would be his physical lessons. Two two-hour sessions each day, through which Harry learned quickly that he was getting the condensed version. What normally took ten years of training, he had to learn and achieve competency in seven months.

Every teacher had different methods as they hammered him against the proverbial anvil. Sir Lynxclaw oversaw his battle magic training, and he refused anything less than perfection. Abrasive and free to give out physical and magical blows, he worked Harry and wrung him out like a damp cloth. Sir Bearclaw, during his archery lessons, was one of the few that spoke calmly and quietly, adjusting Harry's stance with small and precise movements until he had achieved consistent bull's eyes. Sir Strongarm was similar to Sir Lynxclaw, yelling at Harry and intimidating him as he swung his practice sword at the young man during his swordsmanship lessons. The Oakheart brothers would join in for the swordsmanship and archery lessons, but Harry had learned that they possessed no magic, so he was on his own during the battle magic lessons. The brothers reminded him of Fred and George, speaking and finishing each other's sentences, moving as a single unit. They were quick to jest, but just as quick to reprimand.

After lunch, when he would meet up with Neville and eat with the knights again, it was time to go off to his academic lessons. Just as intense, they were a different kind of intense.

Sir Elderson led him through the rudiments of non-verbal wandless magic. Having that ability unlocked by his inheritance, these lessons were to help him refine his skills. Sir Elderson was calm but strict, always putting challenges before him to help build up his reserves and condition his magical skills. These lessons were the hardest, because they forced his body to the limits while pushing his magical skills to the brink without the use of a wand or a focus. Prince Fionn was his teacher in strategy and tactics, tossing in small tidbits of Manx history as they ran through the last hundred years of engagements and taking them apart to analyze. Sir Gwydion Lionsbeard was his tutor in Manx laws; Harry did not fully understand the purpose behind these lessons until he realized that the knights were working under a full set of complex laws that everyone had to obey and understand, as well as a system of honor and chivalry that was almost all but dead to magical Britain. They were trying to teach him about the Darkness, and why people fell to its lure. They wanted to teach him why they were doing what they were doing.

The greatest lesson of them all was under the instruction of Her Majesty herself, Queen Ethne. Only one a week, Queen Ethne taught him about the religion of the Manx people, his people. Harry learned that Mannanan mac Lir guarded the Isle of Man and guided souls of the dead to Tir na nOg, and that the Morrigan chose those slain to travel to his embrace. She broke down rituals for him into their basic pieces, so that he could learn to perform them for himself. Most importantly of all, she instructed him on how to ground and centre himself, and how to look beyond in order to observe and react to situations calmly.

The only time that Neville and he learned together was during Sir Firebird's lessons on runic studies and Arithmancy. This was mostly memorization by rote and practice, keeping careful notes and constantly reviewing them. As soon as Harry sat down to this lesson the first time, he lamented never taking Ancient Runes or Arithmancy as electives, merely because of the speed at which the subjects were taught with.

Harry barely saw Airmed during those seven months. At mealtimes, he would see the one-eyed knight eating quietly and going over papers, but they would never talk. Neville said that it was the same for him and Niamh. Every Sunday, they would meet with their training masters for a joint exercise session and to ask any questions. It was Harry's guess that they was how they monitored how fast that they were learning the material.

That first month of December was excruciating. Every night, he would lay down in his bed and feel all of his injuries as he went to sleep soundly. He was worried that any of the Hogwarts students would recognize him as he trained with the Manxmen, but they did not look for the Boy-Who-Lived among those that were not welcome.

However, once he began to improve, the material got easier. He was glad that he stayed in the castle during the break, not that he had much of a choice. He refused to stay at the Burrow during the break with the constant presences of those that had stolen from him and had betrayed him. He also chose not to stay with Remus and Sirius at Grimmauld Place for those two weeks, because he was still waiting for his pseudo-fathers to make a decision in regards to moving to Mann or not.

As Harry spent more time with the Manxmen, he began to incorporate his lessons into the mass discussions at the meal times. The knights and soldiers, as well as those still in training, would sometimes put forth hypothetical scenarios to discuss and hash out. It was a chance to bring forth possible options, a chance to critically think about a situation, instead of relying solely on instinct that proved, at times, detrimental. Harry enjoyed these times, because he learned other ways to deal with split second decisions and not come out on bottom.

In order to learn the Manx and Gaelic tongues that the knights spoke in constantly, Harry found a Language Potion in one of his advanced Potions textbooks. When taken in the correct doses over a week, and learning only one language at a time, it allowed the drinker to speak the chosen language as if it was their milk-tongue. He brewed two courses of the potion during March, and took it in April. Come May, he began to speak and listen in three different languages. The only reason that it took so long to brew was that Harry had to find all of the ingredients (a fair number of them were through connections with the Weasley twins), and then he had to plead his case to Professor Snape to brew it in one of the potion labs.

Come early June, he wrote his finals and then packed to leave. Airmed came to him before he left, telling him that she was impressed by the accomplishments that he had achieved in his training. She smiled at him, and treated him as an equal. As she broke the embrace, she looked at him and asked what choice he had made in regards to his specialization as a magic-user. He had squared his shoulders, and told her that he wished to undergo the trials of the black robe. Aside from nodding, her only response was to tell him to be ready to leave on the afternoon of Lughnasadh. From his calculations, Lughnasadh was going to land somewhere in the second week of August.

Harry looked out of his window, holding his marks for his sixth year end-of-year exams in his hand: 'O' in Transfiguration, Charms, Defense, Potions, and Herbology, and 'E' in Astronomy. He chose not to take History, Care of Magical Creatures, or Divinations, because he did not want to. Without a single detention in the year, he was proud of what he had accomplished. However, not everyone was.

Ron and Hermione was no longer as close of friends as they were at the beginning of the school year. Ever since he had found out that they were being paid to be his friends, Harry had attempted to distance himself from them without coming right out to them that he knew. The papers from Gringotts were still safe in their folder. Harry would reveal that information at the right time. However, the rage still rang deep that they had duped him for so long. None of it was real.

He heard a knock on the front door as he shook himself out of his reverie. As the plodding footsteps of Dudley came to the door, Harry crept down to the top of the staircase.

"Good afternoon. Is a Petunia Dursley here?" There was a touch of a lilt in the voice, but it was not the Manx accent that he was hoping for. His hopes dropped for a moment. The woman at the door was not Airmed come to get him.

He saw Aunt Petunia come to the door, her fake smile firmly in place. The stranger at the door told her that she had moved in down the way into Number 7, and was hoping to get to know her neighbours. Petunia graciously invited her inside for some afternoon tea. They chatted for a while as Petunia offered her the names of the local grocers and shopping marts.

Harry was about to turn around and go back upstairs when he heard what he had wanted to hear this entire time. "Ma'am, I must confess to you a small fact." There was a clinking of china. "I have heard tell of a young man that lives here, with black hair and green eyes. Might I meet him?"

He could almost imagine Aunt Petunia trying not to go spare, but he came down the stairs to the sitting room before she could deny that he existed. The stranger had black hair long enough to be braided into a club at the base of her tanned neck.

"Harry Potter. Did Conn not tell you last year that it was impolite to eavesdrop on conversations?" The voice, although reprimanding him, held a laugh back. Harry felt his eyes grow wide as he turned around the corner of the sofa.

There, sipping tea with his aunt and uncle, was Airmed. However, she did not look like herself. For one, she had both eyes, both that shade of Ravenclaw blue that peered past him. Another difference was her hair: it was jet black, and not its habitual white. She was wearing typical Muggle clothes: dark blue jeans that fit not too loose and not too tight, a casual white dress shirt rolled up to her elbows, and a black t-shirt underneath the dress shirt. He would not have recognized her if it were not for the silver ring on her hand, topped with a wolf's head.

"Petunia, darling, what's going on?" Uncle Vernon looked to his wife as they stared gobsmacked at the visitor.

Before any of the Dursleys could do anything, Airmed held her hands up in front of her and curled them into fists. As soon as her thumb laid across her fingers, all three of the Dursleys slumped unconscious. Putting her teacup on the table and coming to stand, Airmed ignored Harry for a moment and placed two fingers against each of Uncle Vernon's temples.

"When you wake two hours from on, you will no longer remember Harry Potter. No one but you, your wife, and your son have lived in this house for the past seventeen years. You know nothing of Albus Dumbledore, of magic, or of Hogwarts. Forget…" Her right eye gleamed with her magic as she worked her spell. Working quickly, she went to the other Dursleys and did the same to each of them.

Finally, she acknowledged Harry. "As I promised, it is time to go." She looked at the unconscious people on the couch and chair, and shook her head. "You need never return to this place, Harry.

"Come. There is little time until the school year begins, and we have much to do."


	23. The Better Part of Discretion

Within the ten minutes after Airmed's spell was cast (Harry just classified it as the Manx equivalent to '_Obliviate_'), both Harry and Airmed had gathered up his trunk, released Hedwig from her cage and told her to go and live with Neville for the time being, and transported themselves via animal form for the trip towards Gringotts. Over the year, Harry's Animagus form revealed itself to be a black eagle. In addition to working on his wandless magic technique, he and Master Elderson explored this as a hidden tactic to be used during combat. Right not, it was proving most helpful as he glided near Airmed's peregrine form. In her clutches, Airmed held her ever-useful pouch with Harry's belongings in them as they soared over the currents.

Harry let his mind drift as he flew, keeping a lazy eye on Airmed as she glided in front of him. Today was the day of great change for him. For starters, never again would he have to go back to the Dursleys.

He never understood why Dumbledore always made him come back year after year. It certainly was not for all of the love and attention that they provided him with over the years. He bore his own scars from his childhood beatings, ones that not even Ron and Hermione knew about. Neville knew about them by sight, but he did not know the stories behind them.

That was another great change that would happen after tonight, if he lived. Dumbledore… from the beginning, that man had played a subtle game of chess with Harry. He had done some research in the library records. Before he had arrived as a student, there were no major incidents. Yet, as so as Harry Potter becomes a student, every year there has been a major event that, in one way or another, Harry has played a role in. Dumbledore should not have allowed the Philosopher's Stone or the Dementors on the castle grounds, and yet he did. Was it because he was the Leader of the Light, and therefore above following the rules?

Over the course of his training, he began to spend more time with Professor McGonagall or Sir Lionsbeard, depending on if they had company around them. Like his father had suggested in his letter, Harry had asked her if she would be willing to help him in etiquette lessons. If he was going to be a Lord of Magical Britain, then he had to act the part. Sir Lionsbeard was more than obliging.

Another lesson was added onto his load. These, however, took place on Sundays in her office. She would pour a pot of tea, and then they would talk. Much of the etiquette training had to do with how to address people, how to write letters, and how to properly dress and walk. The worst part, and the best part at times, was the dancing lessons. Besides the traditional waltzes and ballroom dances, she taught him peasant dances of the Manx people if he were ever invited to a _ceili_. It took a lot of effort to break the old habits that he had made for himself, but by the end of the year, they were both satisfied that he could pass for a noble.

Another great change was that tonight, part of the Manx prophecy would be fulfilled. If he survived the black robe trials, then he would be considered a mage of Mann. He was not a knight yet: that had to wait until King Nuada or Queen Ethne allowed him the chance to undergo the vigil and then they would name him a knight. This had to be done near Castle Rushen, so his knighting would have to wait until he could travel and live on the Isle. That would need to wait until Voldemort and Iseult were defeated after the autumnal equinox.

Airmed had told him that many of the young unbounded females looked at Neville and him with looks of romance. They were desired among the females. Harry, when he had heard this, turned a vivid red in the face. He wanted to marry, eventually. However, it would be with something that he knew and loved. He was not one for having sex to try out different girls. No… he was not that kind of man.

He shook his eagle's head as they soared over downtown London. Airmed began to look around until she saw what she was looking for. Cawing to get Harry's attention, they began their descent into Diagon Alley.

As they landed in front of Gringotts, Bill Weasley was waiting for them by the staff entrance, discrete and off to the side. As Harry transformed back into a human shape, he remembered that day when he had gained allies and friends in four of the Weasley brothers…

*HPatKoM*

_On the first Sunday of the winter holidays, Airmed asked Harry a strange question as they stretched out by the Quidditch pitch. "Do you believe that all of the Weasleys knew of the theft of your money, Harrison?" It took him a long time to even consider it, but he could not answer. The hurt at Ron and Hermione's betrayals still stung within him. He preferred to keep that at the back of his mind and focus on training instead. However, now that it had been broached, he could not keep his mind off of the matter. "Fred and George Weasley treated me as a friend when I was still a student here. I would prefer to give them a chance to tell you if they knew or not, and to give up the knowledge freely instead of accusing them forthright and possibly under false assumptions."_

_ Harry was still on the ground, before standing up and shaking off the snow. "Let's ask them, then." He grabbed Airmed's hand and led her back into the castle, their morning training postponed._

_ They used Sir Morgana Lionsbeard's office and travelled by Floo to Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes. It was Airmed's first such travelling experience, and she certainly landed with more grace than Harry could ever accomplish. Surprisingly, Fred and George were both in their offices looking over papers, and the store seemed quiet one floor below them. Maybe they did not open the shop on Sundays._

_ "Harry!" They both exclaimed as they walked around their joint desk. Business, it seemed, was going well for them. "What a pleasant time to come. Please have a seat. And Airmed, too? To what- do we owe- the honor?" As always, they alternated their sentences, as if speaking as a single person._

_ Airmed stood back as they offered her a seat as well, gently shaking her head as she turned her gaze to Harry. Today, she was going to serve as a witness, nothing more. If she had to intervene, then Harry would let her know._

_ Harry looked at them and spoke quietly. "Fred, George. I want to ask you something, and I want you to be completely honest with me." He sighed, taking a breath. "Did you know that Ron, Ginny, and your mother had stolen monies from me from first year to sixth year? Did you know about a marriage contract made between Ginny and I, signed and witnessed by Dumbledore and your mother?"_

_ The looks on Fred and George's faces said it all: they had no idea. No one could have planned such a synchronicity of shared shock without it appearing falsified. "WHAT?" Fred cried out. "Why would they do something like that?" George remained silent, preferring to begin pacing instead. _

_ "That is not even the majority of what has happened against me." Harry felt the burden lift from him. He liked Fred and George, and he would have hated to find out that they had stolen from him, as well. "Would you be willing to swear a wizard's oath, then, to make sure?"_

_ Without even a moment's hesitation, Fred and George whipped their wands out. "We, Frederick Nuada Weasley and George Miach Weasley, here swear on the woods of our wands and the strengths of our magics that we had no knowledge, prior to this meeting, of the theft that Ronald Bilius Weasley, Ginerva Molly Weasley, and Molly Anne Weasley nee Prewett committed against Harrison Potter." There was a golden halo around their hands as their magic accepted the oaths. Flicking their wands to the side, Fred used _Incendio_ to start a fire, and George used _Wingardium Leviosa_ to levitate Harry's chair with him still in it. They had told the truth._

_ Airmed broke her silence. "How is it that two British boys, with no known ties to any Manx family or bloodlines, bear Manx names?" She looked at the twins, trying to remain collected._

_ "The stories of the Manx Knights were our favourites. Luna Lovegood, a neighbour of ours, lent us books with all the stories when she was a kid. She said that her mother's line was descended from a purple robe or something like that. When we were ten, we changed our middle names. They were much better than 'Nathan' and 'Matthew', anyway." The twins were seated once again, looking serious for a rare change of pace. _

_Harry had a sudden idea. "Do you think that Bill and Charlie knew, as well?" Harry had only met the elder brothers a few times before, mostly in between Order Meetings. Bill was married to Fleur Delacour and they were living together, much to his mother's chagrin. He was employed at Gringotts, although Harry did not know as what. Charlie barely spoke to him or during the course of the meetings, choosing rather to observe. However, both had powerful connections during the course of their jobs: Bill with Gringotts and the goblins, and Charlie with the Guild of Dragon-Keepers in Romania. "Do you think that they had any inklings of this?"_

_Fred stood up, almost knocking his chair over. "Ask them, because I don't know. Here." He walked over to the fireplace and Floo-called them for a visit. It turns out that both Bill and Charlie were staying at Grimmauld Place for their Christmas celebrations. It did not take long, but both of them walked through the fire with confused looks on their faces._

_"What's going on, you two? You're acting rather mysterious." Bill reached out and embraced them both, and then Charlie had a go as well. Neither of the brothers had changed much over the years since Harry first met them going to the World Cup. They were the dark horses in this equation._

_"Fred, George, and I were discussing a matter of Weasley honour." Normally, Harry kept his Line Rings on a leather necklace while he trained. It helped to diminish the unwanted attention that he received from his Hogwarts classmates. Today, they decorated his right hand in their rightful. "It seems that the Weasley Line has committed theft against the Head of the Potter line, me." Charlie's eyes widened at the sight of the Gryffindor and Ravenclaw rings resting on Harry's hand._

_Instead of presenting his case in words again, Harry proffered copies of the Gringotts documents that Pureclaw had provided him with. All four of the Weasley men went over the documents in detail, and each of their faces drained of colour as they realized the depth of crime that their family had done. _

_"Dumbledore, it seems, has used your family to befriend and manipulate me since my crash landing in the Wizarding World six years ago. Their reward for this was for Ginny to marry me without my prior knowledge, and for Ron and your mother to be paid a stipend out of my vault for the rest of their lives. Fred and George have sworn to me that they had no knowledge of this. Did you?" Harry let his voice deepen into more regal tones, becoming the Lord that he had inherited._

_Charlie fell down to the floor on one knee. "I, Charles Uther Weasley, do swear on my magic that I had no prior knowledge of these thefts or of the marriage contract. May my magic wither to nothing if I lie." The same golden light surrounded him as he stood and cast a Patronus charm. His German Shepherd Patronus nudged his hand as if hoping for a scratch behind its ghostly ears before disappearing. _

_Bill took longer as he thought, not saying anything. His fingers danced over the Gringotts stamp on the papers, proving that these were real and not carefully made counterfeits. He looked at Harry, and then at Harry's rings. The three other brothers renewed their shocked looks as Bill got down on both knees before Harry. "I, William Lionel Weasley, do swear on this day that I had no knowledge of these crimes. Furthermore, I pledge my service to Lord Harrison Potter, who is also Lord Gryffindor and Lord Ravenclaw. May I serve you as a brother and as an ally, from this day until my last day." The aura that surrounded Bill was golden at first, before turning into white light that encompassed both Harry and him._

_"I accept your pledge, William Lionel Weasley. In return, I swear never to take your oath lightly, nor to betray you to those that would mean to harm you or disgrace you." Fred, George, and Charlie got onto their knees and pledged their services as well._

_Once the oaths were accepted and everyone was back on their feet, Airmed stepped forward. From her pouch, she withdrew four small oak boxes. "On this day, I, Sir Airmed Wolfshead, in the names of King Nuada Eaglewing and Queen Ethne Druidson, name you, Frederick Nuada Weasley, George Miach Weasley, Charles Uther Weasley, and William Lionel Weasley, to be Friends of Mann. With these rings, know that you are in Mann's debt, and can call on a Knight of Mann for assistance. So sworn, so promised."_

_From that day, these five men were brothers… allies… friends._

*HPatKoM*

"Come on, this way." Bill led Harry and Airmed through the side entrance into the bank. "This will take you down to the lower level. Move fast, before Dumbledore finds you gone, Harry." He opened the multiple locks and led them into the darkness.

After what felt like twenty minutes of walking into the pitch black, Bill stopped them and opened a door on the left side of the hall. Pureclaw was waiting for them there.

"Lord Potter-Griffinswing. Sir Wolfshead. Mr. Weasley." He greeted them curtly in turn. "This room was built to protect our clients during the Burning Times. Only by breaking through our entire army will any of your enemies manage to reach this place. That, good menfolk, will never happen." The goblin's eyes gleamed black with the lust for battle. "If you require anything else of Gringotts, simply write out your request on this parchment." He pointed a claw at the desk. "Good afternoon. Mr. Weasley, come with me."

Harry relaxed as the door closed behind them, leaving only Airmed and him. He watched as Airmed shed her glamours and returned to her normal appearance, before looking around the room. There was a bed, a writing desk, and a door leading to a privy. They were stark settings, but he would not be staying here for long.

"Harry." He turned his eyes towards Airmed, who was leaning against the wall with her arms crossed over her chest. "I will ask you this three times tonight. Is it your choice, through no coercion or pressure from others, to undergo the trial of the black robe?" She looked at him, her one eye peering at him with no hint of levity.

"It is." At his answer, she nodded her head before sitting on the edge of the bed. Harry sat next to her, not knowing what else to do right now.

"For the next five hours, until sunset, you will be in isolation. There will be no outside contact until it is time for the ritual to begin. You can have no food and no water. Change into your white pants. During this time, you can do as you wish as long as you remain silent." Airmed's voice was gentle. "Harrison… Harry. You are my first protégé, and I thank the gods every day that you came into my life like this. Since I first saw you, you have grown in leaps and bounds. Following the training that you have gone through, many would have given up. Not even my training was as intense as yours. I am proud to know you, Harry Potter-Griffinswing, and even prouder to call you my friend." She placed her right hand on his shoulder, letting him see the dragon tattoo there. "I will see you soon."

Before she left, Harry asked her, "Can I see them again?"

She nodded and turned back. She stripped off the white button-up shirt that she had worn to the Dursleys, pulled up on the black short-sleeved shirt, and laid out on the bed face down. She raised her hands up to cushion her chin. Harry sat next to her on the edge of the bed, and traced his finger along her black robe marks.

Stained the royal blue color of her magic, Airmed's back was a myriad of designs. On her shoulder blades were two triskells, and in between them was an intricate line of Celtic knots. In the middle of her back was a wolf's head surrounded by a cycle of the phases of the moon. At her waist was another line of Celtic knots beneath a single falcon's feather. They did nothing to hide her veritable cornucopia of scars, but they were beautiful in their own fashion.

Airmed felt the tension radiating from Harry, and answered his unspoken question. "Harry, I have not lied to you yet, nor shall I start now. This is going to hurt, more than anything that your training could have prepared you for. I cannot help you during this time. This is all on you." She sat up and turned to Harry, pulling down the black shirt. She gently embraced him, whispering in his ears, "May the gods grant you strength, Harry." With that, she walked out of the room, locking the door behind her.

He was on his own.


	24. More Things in Heaven and Earth

Time is fickle… Harry re-affirmed that fact as he rested during his time in his isolation cell. It was either too fast or too slow. There was either not enough of it, or too much of it. You spent your time waiting and keeping your mind occupied by other things, but time still got the best of you.

During that first hour, Harry found himself with very little to do, other than to think. After putting on the white pants that Airmed had given him before he left Hogwarts for the summer, Harry focused his time on writing a will on the parchment provided, just in case he died during the trial. He knew the words of the prophecies inside and out, but he felt that he had to do this.

It was stranger than he thought, sitting down and dividing his assets among those that he wanted to leave things aside for. From his parents, he had inherited almost thirty million Galleons and three properties, one of which was in Godric's Hollow. Even now, he had not yet visited it. Somehow, he came to terms that he did not want to. His parents were dead. He had never known them physically, but he had the stories and the pictures from their friends.

He shook his head, thinking about his summer exploits. He had visited the other two properties during his summer break, shaking off his guard from the Order every time as he Apparated to Wales and Ireland. The properties that he had inherited were running under the keen eye of a mixed staff of humans and House Elves. The one in western Ireland was on the sea, and it included mines, a shipping company, and various orchards and farms. The one in Southern Wales near Hertfordshire was more orchards and farmland, but it has an apiary, a wool farm, and a dairy farm as well. There were well over a thousand people living and working on the properties apiece. After introducing himself and learning all that he could about what these properties were, he and the heads of the staffs agreed to continue as it was, with no change.

Returning back to the present, Harry began to write. His money and assets would be divided equally among Remus, Sirius, Sir Morgana Lionsbeard, Neville, Fred, George, Bill, Charlie, the Manxborn of Hogwarts, and the soldiers of the Manx Armed Forces. He named Fred and George his joint heirs to the Gryffindor Line, and Luna Lovegood his heir to the Ravenclaw Line. For the Potter Line, he wished to name as his heir no one. That line was going to die with him. The properties would become autonomous under their own names. None of his money or his assets would be seen by Dumbledore, his Order of the Phoenix, Mrs. Weasley, Ron, Ginny, or Hermione.

After that, he laid out on the bed and closed his eyes. Just as Queen Ethne and Sir Elderson had taught him, he began to place himself into a trance. He cleared his mind and let himself relax. Piece by piece, he let his muscles go limp and sink into the mattress. Tension was released from his body, and when he felt himself go heavy, his mind was set free. For a while he reined in his thoughts, until he thought of nothing at all. Everything just washed over him like a warm summer's breeze. Through that, time became a non-issue.

Harry could have stayed like that forever. However, it was not to be. He felt someone gently touch his bare shoulder, asking him to wake. Slowly, he had to come out of that wonderful state and wake up. "Harry… Harry…" The voice grew from a whisper to a soft questioning, and the touch evolved to a gentle shake.

Harry slowly opened his eyes, feeling the heaviness of his relaxed state go away as he began to stretch out. He looked at who was shaking his shoulder. The cinnamon eyes of Conn Elderson, commander of the Manx armed forces, showed a trace of worry, but otherwise they were stoic as he crouched next to his most recent student.

"It's time, Harry." Harry nodded his head a few times, slowly getting up. That feeling of the warm breeze was now completely gone, leaving his hair starting to rise and a sudden chill sink into his bones. He had not felt the cold creep into the room. He had to rub his hands along his bare arms and chest to warm them up.

"Come with me." As they walked out the door and back into the hallway, Harry spoke nothing. His insides were doing contortions with his fears, but he just kept breathing. He could not lose it, not now. Not when he was so close. Conn placed a hand on Harry's shoulder, giving him his silent support. It was not the same as when Neville did it, but Neville was not here.

The only light in the hall came from a ball of oak-leaf magical fire in Conn's other hand, as he led the way down the pitch-black hall. The floor felt like it went out forever, never turning left or right, simply following a straight and narrow path without any sense of deviation. They seemed to walk on and on, until they eventually reached a door and stopped. Taking his hand from Harry's shoulder, Conn rapped his knuckles against the door three times.

Airmed came out, closing the door behind her almost all of the way. Harry's eyes were accustomed to the dark, but he could make out that she was wearing black tunic and pants. She looked to him, nodding her head. "Twice now I ask. Do you, Harrison Potter-Griffinswing, choose to undergo this trial of your free will under no coercion?"

Harry had to swallow a few times to wet his mouth. "I do." At her nod, Airmed opened the door and ushered both of them inside.

The room was stone: a stone floor, four stone walls, and a stone ceiling. Eighteen iron brackets held brightly-lit torches, lighting the room up completely. All of his mentors stood around the room, still as sentinels. Every one of them was dressed in their chainmail and tabards, holding on to the grips of their weapons. In the very centre of the room was a wooden table. At its four corners, King Nuada, Queen Ethne, Neville, and Niamh stood, keeping stone faces. Harry tried not to look at the table's leather restraints secured to it with rivets, or the smaller table that stood near it, its contents covered up with a white cloth.

Airmed led Harry to the table and stood before him. Now under the torchlight, Harry could make out the details of her clothing. She was wearing a black tunic and black pants, but they were more than that. Her tunic was now unbuttoned, revealing a breast-band. The back of her shirt was decorated with small chips of obsidian, but he could not make out the design. Her sleeves were now pushed up to her elbows. Around her neck was a hemp cord with a black dragon carved of stone, the pendant resting against her breast band.

"Before all those gathered here, I ask you thrice." Airmed's voice rang throughout the room, even though she spoke sotto voce. "Harrison Potter-Griffinswing, is it your choice to undergo the trial of the black robe? Do you undergo it with no coercion, under a clear mind and a clear heart?"

Harry nodded his head, trying not to let the fear show on his face. "It is my choice."

"Then, sit upon the table, and let us begin." Airmed walked away from him to the covered table. Harry hopped on, feeling his heart begin to pound erratically in his chest. He looked behind him and saw the contents of the table, now unhidden. There were five things: a wooden bowl with steam rising from it, a folded piece of parchment, a thin brush, a capped bottle of ink, and a long knife. It was not made of steel, but obsidian. Harry's heart began to race even harder. He almost started to hyperventilate, but Neville's hand on his shoulder was a balm to him. Either could say anything at this point, but nothing needed to be spoken.

Airmed returned to Harry's side. In her hands was the wooden bowl. "Drink this. It's mushroom and vervain tea. It will release your magic." At first smell, Harry almost gagged at the smell of wet earth and rotten plants. As he forced himself to drink the vile mixture, Airmed continued to talk. "I will draw the design out in ink first. That will allow the tea time to begin to take effect. After that, you will be restrained and the trial will begin."

Harry lifted his legs onto the table, turning around to lie on his stomach. His arms formed a pillow for his head. He closed his eyes, and began to pray. He prayed to Dagda Mor and Lugh Samildanach for the strength to endure this. He whispered words to Danu and Manannan mac Lir to watch over him. Of Brigid, he asked that he be found worthy as he was put through this test, like a sword was tested in fire and water as it was being forged.

Harry was praying so hard, that he jumped a bit as he felt Airmed straddle his lower back. Gently, she arranged his arms to lie at his side. The ink was cold as the brush slid over his skin, marking him in designs that only Airmed could see and interpret. Harry forced himself to stay still. It was not so bad, be he knew that this was only the easy part.

The tea was beginning to affect him. Harry was beginning to feel light-headed, and slightly disoriented. His vision began to blur, and his thoughts became disorganized. He could feel that his magical core was growing. It was not quite out of control. A feeling of cotton in his mouth began to set in. His body started to feel heavy.

Fear struck hard as Harry felt Airmed get off him and the restraints begin to go in place. Hands wrapped in heavy leather around his wrists, his elbows, his ankles, his knees, and his hips. He tried not to fight as hands turned his head to lie on its side and a band of leather secured it into place. He tested them, tugging and pulling. He was not going anywhere.

He felt Airmed's hand return to his shoulder as she sat back on his hips. "It's time. May the gods be with you," she whispered, but Harry heard it. Her hand went away, and the obsidian knife replaced it.

Harry screamed and begged as the knife ruthlessly cut into him over and over. It felt like cold fire as it carved the unknown designs into his back. He could not help but jolt and buck, trying his best to get away from the pain. Hands and bodies held onto him, keeping him from falling off the table. The cords in his throat were taut as his screams echoed throughout the room. Tears fell down his face as he fought against the pain. Dignity and pride were forgotten, even fear… Just make it stop! He begged for them to stop. Why were they not stopping? Nothing was strong enough to overcome the pain. This was like enduring an endless stream of Cruciatus Curses, with no stop in sight.

Eventually, his screams turned to whimpers and sobs. He was so tired, that he could no longer fight. Sweat and tears poured off of him, mingling with the blood from his back and from where his restraints cut into his skin. However, that was no respite. He simply lost his strength.

However, just as Harry felt like he was going to pass out, the knife withdrew from his skin. The feeling of the endless carving was over. The salt from his sweat stung his open wounds. Airmed's weight on his hips was gone as she climbed off of him. The leather was gently unwrapped from his joints, freeing him, but he had no energy or desire to get up from the table.

The occupants of the room were silent. Everyone looked towards Harry's back, praying fervently that he had passed the trial. Harry closed his eyes again, and breathed out in exhaustion.

He did not, and could not see the wounds on his back begin to glow. He did not see the blood on his back begin to turn a green that the most perfect emeralds would envy. He did hear the whoops of joy from every knight and Manxman in the room. He cracked his eyes open as he felt a tear drip from his face.

Gentle hands helped him to sit up, although he could not do much more than lean against the person standing in front of him. Cool wet towels began to carefully dab away the blood. Harry could barely make out Airmed's blurry form standing in front of him as she pushed him a little ways back. "Harrison Potter-Griffinswing, know and rejoice that you have passed the trial. You are now worthy to be named a black robe, and a mage of the Isle of Man."

That was when he passed out.

*HPatKoM*

Soft cloth rubbed against Harry's face as he slowly woke up in a strange place. Sunlight shone through his closed eyelids, making his head pound. He tried to open them, but the light proved to be too strong for him. He felt tight bandages wrapped around him from his armpits to his waist, and then his ritual pants stills on his legs. He tried to sit up on his own, but hands tenderly stopped him.

"Easy, easy…" A woman's voice rang out close to his head; it sounded similar to the rustling of leaves on a tree. "You have gone through an ordeal of near-epic proportions. You must rest and heal, young one." Those same hands now helped him to lean forward, only to push him back against a mound of softness.

By now, the weight was gone from his eyes, and Harry looked around to find out a clue of where he was. He definitely was not in Gringotts any more.

He was in a one-room cabin of sorts: wooden walls, a thatched roof of reeds, and a dirt floor. There were three windows around the room, all of them covered by a thin paper. He was currently lying on the only bed in the room. There was a table and two chairs against one of the other walls. There was a fire-pit in the centre of the room, with a fire crackling merrily in it. Over it hung an iron cauldron, with something brewing inside of it.

At the table was a woman that Harry had never seen before. She appeared to be about thirty years old. Auburn hair was tied off into a horsetail, leaving it to fall in waves to the middle of her back. Her skin was healthy, lightly tanned with a hint of blush. Over her almost saint-like smile, her eyes were the colour of oak leaves. She was dressed in a long woolen tunic belted over dark pants.

She picked up a wooden goblet and dipped it into the cauldron. "Careful. It's hot, but sip at it slowly." She pulled the chair that she was sitting in over to the bed, and poured herself another goblet of whatever was in the cauldron. She passed one of them to Harry, keeping the other for herself.

Harry held it in his hand, not quite ready to drink some unknown substance because a strange woman had told him so. He looked at her, trying to be discrete and failing. "Who are you? Where am I?"

The woman laughed heartily. "Oh, Harry. It has been so long since any of Manannan's ones have visited me. I forget that you mortals always wish to orient yourself to wherever you are." She leaned forward in the chair, resting her elbows on her knees. "You, my dear one, are in Tir na nOg, home of my kin and I. As for myself, I am Airmed, daughter of Dian Cecht. My namesake and your teacher prayed to me that you would make it through your trial. She has worked so hard for us… she has earned some happiness." She smiled. "And, no. Before you ask, you are not dead."

Harry was beyond shocked… he was bordering on unbelieving. He did what he always did, in cases like this: he pinched his arm, hard. When he felt the pain, his mouth dropped. This was real? He was sharing a cup of tea with the Celtic goddess of healing and herblore?

He sipped at the tea in his hand. It tasted like honey and herbs, but he could feel his strength coming back as he sipped more and more. "Why then, lady, am I here?"

Airmed smiled still. "Those that undergo the black robe trial of the Manxmen are our personal chosen ones on your plane. You are warriors in our names, because we cannot leave Tir na nOg anymore. Those that pass the trial come here and visit us, to learn who it is that they fight for."

Her door opened, and an older man came through the threshold. His face was sunburnt and weather-worn, but his sea blue eyes glowed with warmth. Dark brown hair the texture of coarse curled wire was cut close to his head and chin in a beard. He smelled of salt, of the ocean.

"Manannan! I told you that I would bring him out when he was ready!" Airmed made shooing motions with her hands. "Mine nuncle… on some days, you try my patience!" Still, though, Airmed had that beatific presence to her.

Harry looked at the men above him, shifting slightly in his seat. "Manannan mac Lir?" The man nodded and grinned, but he closed the door quickly before earning Airmed's wroth.

Airmed coaxed Harry to stand on shaky feet and led him out the door. Taking small steps, he walked out to the edge of a forest and lake. Under an apple tree, Airmed bade him sit.

For what felt like hours, he met with the gods of the Manxmen. What happened during his time in Tir na nOg was only for Harry to know. However, what he understood by the end of the visit was simple: save their people.

As the sun set in this paradise, Airmed led Harry back to her cabin. As he got settled back into the bed, Airmed turned to him. "When you return to your plane, share none of this with anyone, not even Airmed Wolfshead. This time, this gift, was for you and you alone. Now close your eyes, and sleep. When you wake, you will be home."

Feeling sleep beckon to him, Harry fell into its embrace.


	25. Brevity is the Soul of Wit

It was strange, Harry contemplated, as he sat in the Hogwarts Express on the trip to Hogwarts. It was strange that, by Samhain this year, everything would be different. In fact, everything was already different. It was just a matter of who was aware of it.

On most of the days, Harry felt like he was older than his seventeen years. At only seventeen years, he was the Lord of three Ancient and Noble Lines, two of them the lines of founders of Hogwarts. He was a black robe, tried and tested by the gods of Mann. He was training to be a Knight of Mann, and was soon to be knighted after the duel on the autumnal equinox. He was both the Boy-Who-Lived, and the champion of the most recent Triwizard Tournament. He was the youngest Seeker to play at Hogwarts in a century. He was one of the top ten mark holders in his year, topping even Hermione Granger, the resident Gryffindor bookworm and know-it-all. However, that meant so little. That did not make his days any better to bear. In truth, he made his days even longer.

Just like in fifth and sixth years, Ron and Hermione attended the prefect's meeting, leaving him and Neville to travel together. Afterwards, they would probably find their own apartment to snog each other senseless. This year, Luna and Seamus joined them. None of them talked too much during the trip, but the lull was companionable. Seamus was practicing his Gaelic with Neville. Luna was reading a section from her Ancient Runes textbook. Harry just stared out the window, lost in thought.

After the Council Meeting last November, Airmed, with Harry and Neville at her sides, met up with the Hogwarts students of Manx lineage. There were not many: about fourteen all told showed up, the majority being in fourth to seventh year. They were spread out over the different Houses: Seamus, Neville, Angelina Johnson, and Katie Bell in Gryffindor House; Draco, Blaise Zabini, and Daphne Greengrass in Slytherin House; Luna Lovegood, Terry Boot and Mairi O'Sullivan of Ravenclaw House; Hannah Abbott, Susan Bones, Connor MacManus, and Lucia Farrell of Hufflepuff House. There were others, according to Neville's list, but they either did not wish to come to this meeting, or they were still oblivious to their lineage.

Airmed asked them all individually if they were desiring to aid in the war effort against the Darkness. Everyone, even the Slytherins to the surprise of many, agreed. Their duty was simple: on the night of the duel, they were to keep their Housemates in the dorms, to keep them safe. If in case any of the Dark Ones came for a fight, they were to get their Housemates to safety. Fight if they could, but she emphasized as little deaths as possible.

With that, many of those students began to look out for the Manxmen, especially the young children. They served as yet another buffer zone between the Hogwarts students and the Manxborn, protecting both from the other. They stood up against the bigots and the bullies, looking after those that had protected them. Harry and Neville had at least one of these students in every one of their classes, keeping an eye out for them. It was not known to the students that either of them were undergoing training as knights, or that Harry was training for his black robe trial. It was a new kind of solidarity among the population of Hogwarts, one that could only help in future endeavours.

"Lord Potter, Lord Longbottom, would you care for anything from the trolley?" The old woman that drove the sweets cart along the train stopped.

"No, thank you." Seamus and Luna both bought something. Instead, Harry stared down at his rings.

That was another great change: Harry's status with his Line Rings. Over the last winter term, Harry had gotten over his trepidation and began to openly wear his rings all of the time in Hogwarts. It was strange at first: people bowing their heads to him in the hallways, or those that addressed him as 'my Lord', or 'Lord Potter'. Neville and Lady Daphne Greengrass helped him to make the transition smoother. This meant augmenting Sir Morgana Lionsbeard's lessions with new clothes, a haircut… It meant accepting who and what he was, instead of hiding it away because it might make others uncomfortable. It showed in Hogwarts.

There appeared to be two main parties that had formed over his action. One group was supportive of Harry's claim. This group, small but mighty, was mainly those with claims to Noble or Ancient Houses. They treated him with respect, and some helped him by giving tips on how to run his lands and such, with the helps of their own seneschals and stewards. They refused to kowtow to him because of his claim to the Ravenclaw line. They were pleased that he did not flaunt around his power. He was still Harry, but now he had added responsibilities.

Speaking of added responsibilities… this summer, Harry became more involved in the running of his lands. He worked alongside his stewards, who guided him and showed him the families that worked on his lands. Every day, letters would come in and out of wherever he was to inform him of the day-to-day running of his estates. That did not endear him to many.

The other group included the majority of Hogwarts, and they called him a liar and a fake. They did not believe him, or they insulted him. They were the hardest to ignore. There was an increase of insults and swears coming from them, many of them hurtful and derogatory. However, Harry had endured them, because he had not choice. Both Queen Ethne's warning and his oath kept him from acting against his accusers. When they got no reaction from him, the insults dimmed down to the norm: calling him a coward and a liar, unworthy of Gryffindor House. That was ironic, considering that he was the last heir of Godric Gryffindor by blood.

Hermione and Ron neither supported him nor insulted him. They acted hurt that Harry had not told them everything, and that they were among the last to find out. That Airmed was with Harry when he found out about his lineage rankled Hermione. She spouted off nonsense that Airmed was evil, because she used the Dark Arts and blood magic to gain her power. Ron stayed with his girl, snogging her whenever she would let him. Whenever Harry went off to study, Ron would grumble and complain. Harry had ignored it all: he was busy almost every waking hour of the day, and he had no time or patience to argue with an immature boy he had once called 'mate'.

Instead, Harry made stronger friendships with others. Neville was his Line-Friend and brother in all but blood. They watched out for each other all of the time. Seamus and Luna came soon after. They both joined Harry in his studying, but they were not rude about it like Hermione was. Soon after, other Manxborn joined in, talking to Harry between classes and eventually forming their own study group in the library every night. Seamus had Harry play chess with him on the weekends to serve as a distraction. Little Euan, however, was like Harry's little brother. He always watched out for the then-second year, laughing at his escapades and making himself open to any of his questions.

"How's your back?" Seamus asked him when he saw that Harry was twisting in his seat to get comfortable in his seat again. "Is it sore or something?"

"Or something." Harry muttered under his breath. "Did a lot of hard work over the summer, so I'm not quite used to sitting still for long periods of time." He grinned at Seamus, who appeared to be content with that.

Harry was not lying about the work. Like summers in the past, Harry had to do all of the yard work for the Dursleys. In addition, he had kept up with the exercise regime that he had made for himself last summer. Aunt Petunia did not let him clean the house and such, for reasons unknown but suiting him.

Once he had returned from Tir na nOg, he spent the last four weeks of summers training with Airmed and Niamh at Neville's home at Longbottom Cottage. Spending his time with his friend was comfortable and companionable. Neville's family had chosen not to build an estate or mansion, but instead a simple cottage. Neville's house elves numbered very few, and they were instructed not to aid Neville or Harry during their training by Lady Augusta Longbottom. It was not intense training like during the year, but he worked hard enough everyday to fall onto his cot exhausted by sunset.

Harry had managed to look at the marks on his back only last week. At first, they were bandaged tightly to keep them from getting infected. Airmed would help change them every night, washing them with hot water and spreading an herbal-smelling cream over his tired muscles and the tender carvings. Last week, she deemed him healed enough to no longer need the dressings. After twisting his neck to stare in the mirror, he took a long time just staring at them.

On his shoulders, Harry's tanned skin bore two triskells, one on each, just like Airmed. Between his shoulders was a line of ogham script. In the middle of his back was a Celtic-style griffin standing rampant. At his waist was another line of ogham script, guarded by a lightning bolt similar to his faded scar on either side. When he transcribed and translated the ogham script, it read out: 'I am the green lightning long foretold. May darkness fear me and the gods embrace me.' All of it was stained the color of emeralds, almost the color of his eyes but not quite. It was the color of his magic.

Before Harry and Neville left Longbottom Cottage to catch the train, Airmed gave them one last set of instructions. As with the previous term, they were to continue to train with the Manxmen every day. What was more, they were not to reveal anything to anyone about the duel or their roles in it. The whole school knew about the duel, but they did not know that Voldemort and Iseult had made a pact for an alliance. Airmed reassured them that Dumbledore knew about it, and that he was going to gather the Order of the Phoenix to Hogwarts that night.

The train came to a slow stop and everyone off-loaded their belongings and headed out. Harry saw the Thestrals waiting to pull the carriages, and smiled grimly. They were a special breed of winged horse, in that they could only be seen by those that had witnessed death. By the end of this year, many of the students might see them.

In the Great Hall, Harry saw that the Manxmen, from oldest to youngest, were present and standing behind the benches. All of their clothes were clean and pressed, their faces and skin scrubbed and polished. All of their weapons were placed against the wall, away from a quick reach. That was to appease Umbridge and her ridiculous decrees: Fudge had ruled that the Manxmen did not have to forfeit their weapons, but they could not carry them during mealtimes, when accidents could happen quite easily. Harry spotted Airmed and Niamh among them and discretely nodded his head at them.

He heard a scuffle behind him, and turned his head. He had to control himself from rolling his eyes as he saw Ron shove Neville aside so that he could sit next to Harry in his perceived place. Hermione snagged Seamus' place, sneering at him as she settled in her 'place'. Harry resisted a sigh as he sat down. They still did not get it, did they?

"We didn't see you this summer, Harry." Ginny leaned across the table and grabbed at Harry's hand, holding it tight. One could only look at her and not be distracted by her pushed-up breasts and her coquettish smile. "Didn't you get our owls?"

"Yes, Ginny. I was not able to come, because I was busy." Harry took his hand out of her grasp and gently pushed her back into her seat and her hands away. "Besides, Dumbledore did not say that I could come. Guess he wanted me to stay with the Dursleys." Harry shrugged his shoulders nonchalantly. None of what he said was a lie. It simply was the truth mended to suit their needs.

"Bad luck on that one, mate." Ron was thrumming his hands on the table. "Come on. Finish the Sorting, already!"

Harry took a look at the queue in front of the Sorting Hat. Sir Morgana Lionsbeard was still doing the Sorting, but Harry had a feeling that it would be her last this year. About eight new firsties remained, looking all nervous and anxious.

"Ron!" Hermione snapped at him. "Be patient! There are more important things than your stomach!" Her snap gentled. "Besides, after dinner, you get your present." They began to make cow eyes at each other.

"Skies above, get a room, you two!" Seamus scoffed. "Most of us want to eat without losing our stomachs!" That got a couple of laughs from the table. Everyone thought it hilarious that, after six years of arguing and fighting with each other, Ron and Hermione had finally became a couple.

Hermione had no chance to retort, because Dumbledore gave the signal for the feast to begin. Ron was immediately distracted by the food, and began gobbling everything in sight.

As Harry tucked in, he caught a gaze at the Manxman table. More specifically, he caught a glimpse of the most beautiful woman he had seen. She was laughing at something Sir Lugh Lynxclaw had said, but he could not hear what her voice sounded like above the din. Her eyes were forest green, almond-shaped and shining with happiness. Her skin was like cream, a rich ivory with a touch of blush. Her hair was cut short to the lobes of her ears, auburn and thick. Her tabard bore a white rearing horse on brown.

It was like the earth had stopped moving. Nothing mattered: not the food in front of him, not the chattering of students around him. His mind went clear, and his only thought was of her. Gods, what was her name? He had to meet with her, talk to her.

"… Harry… HARRY!" Someone slapped a hand on his shoulder. Harry resisted the instinct to grab his knife and cut the person that had attacked him so. "Jeez, mate! I've been calling your name!" Ron looked frustrated with him. "You going to finish that?" He pointed to Harry's plate, still full of barely touched food.

"No… go ahead." Harry pushed the plate at Ron. "Guess I'm not as hungry as I thought." Unfortunately, Ron did not have time to eat it, because Dumbledore stood up to give his start-of-term announcements.

"Welcome, all students and staff, to the start of another year!" His genial smile and twinkling eye were firmly in place as he looked over all of his students. "There are a few announcements this year.

"I wish you all to welcome our new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher, Professor Nátan Boudreaux. He has served as an Auror for the French Ministry of Magic for the last thirty years, and is taking a year long sabbatical in order to teach you all." There was a generous spread of applause from the students as the Frenchman nodded at them. Professor Boudreaux had a look of constant vigilance about him, but he hid behind a sip of wine and a careful smile. Storm grey eyes and dirty blonde hair belied a sense of steel around him.

Harry shot a quick look at Airmed, who nodded at him. She had mentioned that Mann was calling in the favours of their allies on the Continent. Britain might have been backwards, but through Ireland, Mann's people bore allies among the people of France, Spain, Germany, and Scandinavia. She had mentioned that a representative from France would be coming to Hogwarts this year, to help begin renewed talks with them for their continued friendship.

"Also," Harry returned his attention to Dumbledore, "please welcome back Madam Delores Umbridge, who is on staff to ensure that educational standards are being met at Hogwarts. She will be around if you have any such inquiries." The applause, this round, was scant at best. Umbridge merely smiled her sugary confection of a smile that could not resist but make you gag.

After his obligatory messages about avoiding the Forbidden Forest, Dumbledore motioned to the fifth table. "For our first year students, and as a reminder to our older students, Hogwarts is serving as a host to a contingent from the Isle of Man until the end of this year. After that, they will return home. There will be a deduction of fifteen points for every negative altercation with them. As they are our guests, they will have our respect." The twinkle left his eyes for a moment, pressing the severity of the matter on all listening.

With the return of his genial manner, Dumbledore finished his speech. "And now, off to bed with you all! Pip-pip!"

Harry stood up and walked to the door. He felt a note being passed into his hand in and amidst the bustle. He tucked it into the pocket of his robes, thinking nothing of it until he got back to his dorms.

As his dorm mates slept on, Harry cracked open the note. _"I saw the two of you staring at each other during dinner. She stared at you too, Harry. Her name is Morwen Whitemare. Her original intended died before they could be married. As of right now, she is seeing no one. Come to the Great Hall the night before the equinox, 21 September at 7:00. –Airmed."_

Harry tucked the note away. When his head hit the pillow, he could not help but to smile.


	26. Music be the Food of Love

Those first three weeks saw Harry literally throwing himself into his assignments and his training sessions with vigour. Not even his worst enemies could have found fault with him, because they could not find him easily anymore. Either in the library with his study group or in his classrooms as Harry the student, or out by the Lake training with Neville and the Manxmen as Harrison the black robe, Harry had not time for Quidditch again (to Ron's never-ending ire) or other games.

However, he was not above having fun. On 21 September, as Airmed asked him, he slunk through the deserted halls of Hogwarts dressed in his best tunic and trousers. Tonight, Neville had told him, was going to be a celebration of the ages. It was a Manx tradition to throw a massive party, or a **ceili_, _**the night before a planned engagement. It raised morale for the soldiers and the knights, as well as their families. It allowed them to remember their families happy and whole in case they might die the next day in the service of their country.

Harry had wanted to make a quiet entrance, just to walk in and sit down, but that did not happen. "Harrison Griffinswing, the newest black robe!" Conn Elderson came up to him and greeted him as an equal: embracing him as a man and passing him a goblet full with a golden liquid. "**Slainte!**"

The liquor was honey and spices, and it slid down so smoothly down his throat, that Harry did not realize that he had drained the goblet in a few swallows.

"Now that you are here, we can begin!" Conn clapped his hands. "Strike up the lutes and bodhrans! Gather the pipes and drums!"

A melody of drums and strings filled the hall, slowly growing louder and louder until King Nuada lifted his arms and voice and let a glorious song fill the hall. His wife soon joined in with him, and they led the first dance of the night, smiles emblazoned on their faces.

_Thank you, Gods, for a new day dawning,  
__Over our mountains and valleys of green!  
__Thank you, Gods, for a new day dawning,  
__And shining your lights from above!_

_Thank you, Gods, for a new day dawning,  
__Over our mountains and valleys of green!  
__Thank you, Gods, for a new day dawning,  
__And shining your lights from above,  
__All over this land that we love!_

_Mann is our home; this is where we belong.  
__Here between mountain and sea…  
__Here is our future, and here is our past.  
__And here we are destined to be!_

_Mann is our home; this is where we belong.  
__These are our fields and our farms…  
__The gods gave us protection, and gave us the heart,  
__And gave us the strength in our arms!_

_Thank you, Gods, for a new day dawning,  
__Over our mountains and valleys of green!  
__Thank you, Gods, for a new day dawning,  
__And shining your lights from above,  
__All over this land that we love!_

_Mann is our home; this is where we belong,  
__And where we intend to return.  
__We'll drive the Darkness away from our land,  
__Again and again, and again and again and again…  
__Thank you, Gods, for a new day dawning,  
__Over our mountains and valleys of green!_

_Thank you, Gods, for a new day dawning,  
__And shining your lights from above!  
__Thank you, Gods, for a new day dawning,  
__Over our mountains and valleys of green!  
__Thank you, Gods, for a new day dawning,  
__And shining your lights from above,  
__All over this land that we love!_

The applause was uproarious, but it was brief. Quickly, a cacophony of pipes filled the hall and many cheered at the sounds. Prince Fionn whooped and jumped up onto one of the tables. Raising his hands up in a way similar to his father, he led the second song. Men and woman went onto the floor, and began to dance and whirl.

_Axes flash, broadsword swing,  
__Shining armour, piercing ring!  
__Horses run with polished shield,  
__Fight those bastards till they yield!  
__Midnight mare and blood red roan,  
__Fight to keep this land your own!  
__Sound the horn and call the cry,  
__"How many of them can we make die!"_

_Follow orders as you're told,  
__Make their yellow blood run cold!  
__Fight until you die or drop,  
__A force like ours is hard to stop!  
__Close your mind to stress and pain,  
__Fight 'til you're no longer sane!  
__Let not one damn cur pass by,  
__"How many of them can we make die!"_

_Guard your women and children well,  
__Send these bastards back to Hell!  
__We'll teach them the ways of war,  
__They won't come here any more!  
__Use your shield and use your head,  
__Fight 'til every one is dead!  
__Raise the flag up to the sky,  
__"How many of them can we make die!"_

As the instruments got busy with an interlude in the middle of the song, Harry spotted Morwen among a group of women, laughing and cheering. No man was dancing with her, yet. Just then, the music picked up to finish the song.

_Dawn has broke, the time has come,  
__Move your feet to a marching drum.  
__We'll win the war and pay the toll,  
__We'll fight as one in heart and soul.  
__Midnight mare and blood red roan,  
__Fight to keep this land your own!  
__Sound the horn and call the cry,_

_"How many of them can we make die!"  
__Axes flash, broadsword swing,  
__Shining armour, piercing ring!  
__Horses run with polished shield,  
__Fight those bastards till they yield!  
__Midnight mare and blood red roan,  
__Fight to keep this land your own!  
__Sound the horn and call the cry:  
__"How many of them can we make die!"_

The hall erupted in raucous praises, and a woman took up the next song. The music, this time, was mostly based in the fiddles and lutes, and it changed the mood from lust for battle to having a good time among friends.

_There's wood on the fire, and food on the table,  
__And blessings are heaped on our heads!  
__The sun has gone down, but he'll join us again  
__Before anyone goes to their beds!  
__Some say this world is a passing distraction  
__And real life comes after you're dead!  
__I say as long as there's plenty of mead,  
__Then this world is all that we need, we need,  
__Then this world is all that we need!_

_So let's drink to the sun, more faithful a lover  
__Than any we'll find in this world!  
__And let's drink to the honeybee, buzzing wee alchemist,  
__Spinning that love into gold!  
__Drink to the trees in our orchards that shower  
__Their dawn-coloured fruits on the grass!  
__Drink to the rainfall, and drink to our labour!  
__It all winds up in the glass, the glass,  
__It all winds up in the glass!_

_We're nearly done tuning our harps and our fiddles,  
__And then let the dancing begin!  
__The air is still warm, so let's open the doors  
__And let neighbours and travelers in!  
__Some say that life is resisting temptation,  
__And love is a lesson in sin…  
__I say that friendship and hearty red wine  
__Bring us all closer to the Divine, the Divine!  
__And this world will do us just fine!_

_So let's drink to the sun, more faithful a lover  
__Than any we'll find in this world!  
__And let's drink to the honeybee, buzzing wee alchemist,  
__Spinning that love into gold!  
__Drink to the trees in our orchards that shower  
__Their dawn-coloured fruits on the grass!  
__Drink to the rainfall, and drink to our labour!  
__It all winds up in the glass, the glass  
__It all winds up in the glass!_

_And let's drink to the grapes in our vineyards,  
__And drink to the beast roasting over the fire!  
__And let's drink to the cycles of death and renewal,  
__And drink to the flames of desire!  
__Drink to the trees that we've planted ourselves  
__That drop bright-coloured fruits on the lawn,  
__Bursting with light that will run down the chins  
__Of our children long after we've gone, we've gone,  
__Long after we all have moved on!_

Harry, by the middle of that song, had drunk another goblet of that wonderful honey brew. He found himself sitting on a bench and humming to the tune of that delightful song. After a piece of fiddles and flutes, Sir Firebird got up and sing. Niamh had an enchanting baritone voice as he sang the first of two songs honouring his fellow warriors.

_My kinsmen and my brothers  
__My shield mates and my guides  
__May my arm always defend you  
__And your honor lift you high._

_You are true and destined kin  
__And my sword is by your side  
__I will fight by you in glory  
__'til I die._

_As we stand before the darkness  
__Our swords and spears raised high,  
__We will go before our foes and  
__Slay the ones that do us harm._

_You are true and destined kin  
__And my sword is by your side  
__I will fight by you in glory  
__'til I die._

_When the time for bloody way has come  
__Your right hand I will be.  
__Where you lead, my kin, I'll follow  
__As we sweep to victory._

_You are true and destined kin  
__And my sword is by your side  
__I will fight by you in glory  
__'til I die._

_We will keep the shield wall fast, my kin,  
__And that day our foes will die.  
__And as one we'll live victorious  
__As you hear the Ravens cry!_

_You are true and destined kin  
__And my sword is by your side  
__I will fight by you in glory  
__'til I die._

_We will sing the days of glory,  
__Of our kinsmen gone away  
__May they see your glowing pride  
__If I should join you on your way._

_You are true and destined kin  
__And my sword is by your side  
__I will fight by you in glory  
__'til I die._

The applause was short, before Niamh began his next song.

_Hey, hey, laddy-oh!  
__We'll climb that hill and we'll fight the foe!  
__Hey, hey, laddy-oh!  
__We'll climb that hill and we'll fight the foe!_

_The muscled might of Manxmen fierce  
__Is climbing up the hill with our boots and gears.  
__Hey, hey, laddy-oh!  
__We'll climb that hill and we'll fight the foe._

_Heed well the Crescent's light  
__When you see it on the field with the recent plight.  
__Hey, hey, laddy-oh!  
__We'll climb that hill and we'll fight the foe!_

_What need your belt and crowns  
__When you meet the might of Griffins in their battle browns!  
__Hey, hey, laddy-oh!  
__We'll climb that hill and we'll fight the foe!_

_The army rolls towards the field,  
__And the ties of the battle we will not yield.  
__Hey, hey, laddy-oh!  
__We'll climb that hill and we'll fight the foe!_

_Snow, rain, or sun beat down  
__We're fighting for the pride of our sovereign crown!  
__Hey, hey, laddy-oh!  
__We'll climb that hill and we'll fight the foe!_

_Fight what their dark deeds sow,  
__They'll be getting their rewards from our swords and bows!  
__Hey, hey, laddy-oh!  
__We'll climb that hill and we'll fight the foe!_

_Salute to the one you hold most dear  
__And do honor to your king and queen now here!  
__Hey, hey, laddy-oh!  
__We'll climb that hill and we'll fight the foe!_

_Lift up your swords and sing  
__For the glories of the war this day will bring!  
__Hey, hey, laddy-oh!  
__We'll climb that hill and we'll fight the foe!_

_Hail to the friends from far and near!  
__The allies of the men of Mann we cheer!  
__Hey, hey, laddy-oh!  
__We'll climb that hill and we'll fight the foe!  
__Hey, hey, laddy-oh!  
__We'll climb that hill and we'll fight the foe!_

By now, the dancing had tuned downa bit. Everyone was getting into the mood for celebration. Harry went about getting another drink, when he saw Sir Morgana Lionsbeard shout out for the drums to beat out once more. As soon as the beat began, Sir Gwyn Longwing, Sir Sorcha Greenblood, and Queen Ethne stood with her and joined in. Sir Lionsbeard stood in the centre of the hall and sang out in a surprisingly strong contralto voice.

**_O-ro, ri na bhfarraige  
_****_Ri na bhfarraige Na mhoir ro!  
_****_O-ro, ri na bhfarraige  
_****_Ri na bhfarraige Na mhoir ro!_**

**_Sé mo laoch mo Ghile Mear  
_****_Sé mo Cheasar, Ghile Mear,  
_****_Suan ná séan ní bhfuair me féin  
_****_Ó chuaidh i gcéin mo Ghile Mear!_**

_Hail the hero, strong and true  
__Who fought the fight and saw it through  
__Who swore they ne'er would be a slave  
__And gave their life, our land to save_

**_Sé mo laoch mo Ghile Mear  
_****_Sé mo Cheasar, Ghile Mear,  
_****_Suan ná séan ní bhfuair me féin  
_****_Ó chuaidh i gcéin mo Ghile Mear!_**

_From our wild Atlantic shore  
__Above the mighty ocean's roar  
__Let's sing from the highest mountainside  
__Of heroes who fill our hearts with pride_

**_Sé mo laoch mo Ghile Mear  
_****_Sé mo Cheasar, Ghile Mear,  
_****_Suan ná séan ní bhfuair me féin  
_****_Ó chuaidh i gcéin mo Ghile Mear!_**

**_Sé mo laoch mo Ghile Mear  
_****_Sé mo Cheasar, Ghile Mear,  
_****_Suan ná séan ní bhfuair me féin  
_****_Ó chuaidh i gcéin mo Ghile Mear!_**

Harry could not help himself but applaud at that wonderful song. During the second last refrain, the doors to the hall cracked open and Airmed strode in.

The gathered people cheered at the sight of her. Everyone had goblets of the honey brew out for her. Children came up to her for her to throw them up in the air. People were giving her gifts of handmade things: a new pair of leather fighting gloves, a new cloak of deepest black and bloodiest crimson. As she bowed before the King and Queen, they embraced her as a daughter and gifted her with a golden braided torc.

Harry finally understood what had been eluding him for so long, by watching Airmed talk with her friends and her people. Airmed, for all that she was humble about it, was a hero. She was proof of all of the sacrifices and the losses that they had suffered, but also of all of the victories that the Manx people had won. She was their champion, in flesh and blood, come to lead their forces to fight the Darkness.

Airmed raised a hand up, and the crowd grew quiet. Once she had all of their attention, Airmed began to speak. "Tonight, we celebrate and come together as friends and family. However, we must not forget those that have given up their lives over the years: brothers, sisters… fathers, mothers… dear ones to us all. To the dead!" Airmed lifted her glass and poured some on the ground, before having a swallow. Everyone followed suite, even Harry.

"Over the last one hundred years, we have seen that the Darkness can be beaten time and time again. Tomorrow, when we fight them, may it be the last time! We will defeat the Darkness, and we will return home!"

"HOME!" The hall resounded with the call.

Airmed looked to her husband, and reached out a hand. Niamh came forward, nothing but pride in his wife on his face. In the middle of the floor, they kissed. Niamh wrapped an arm around her, and they rocked to the beat of the flutes playing a deep song. Airmed's voice was soft as she sang, and Niamh's replies were heartfelt, bringing tears to many eyes. When they sang the story together, they sounded almost mystical in their blending.

_Once a fair and handsome Seal Lord  
__Lay his foot upon the sand  
__For to woo the Fisher's daughter  
__And to claim her marriage hand  
__"I have come in from the ocean  
__I have come in from the sea  
__And I'll not go to the waves, love,  
__Lest ye come along with me."_

_"Lord, long have I loved you  
__As a Selkie on the foam  
__I would gladly go and wed ye  
__And be lady of your home  
__But I cannot go into the ocean  
__I cannot go into the sea  
__I would drown beneath the waves, love,  
__If I went along with thee."_

_"Lady, long have I loved you  
__I would have you for my wife  
__I will stay upon your shore land  
__Though it robs me of my life  
__I will stay one night beside you  
__Never go back to the sea  
__I will stay and be thy husband  
__Though it be the death of me."_

_Dae dae dae da da dae dae..._

_"Lord, I cannot go and wed thee  
__All to watch my lover die  
__Since I'll not be left a widow  
__I have a plan for us to try  
__Let us speak with my grandmother  
__Who has ever dwelt beside the sea  
__She may know some trick or treasure  
__That I may wed my fair Selkie."_

_So they've gone to her grandmother's  
__Little cottage by the sea  
__To inquire how a maiden  
__Can be wed to her Selkie  
__For the Selkie's watery kingdom  
__Would surely rob her of her breath  
__But to stay on land past midnight  
__It would surely be his death._

_"Lord, I know not how to aid you  
__You may never live on shore  
__For your kind to live 'til dawning  
__It has ne'er been seen before  
__But my mother had a seal coat  
__That she buried 'neath the tree  
__And she told me that its wearer  
__Would become a fair Selkie."_

_Dae dae dae da da dae dae..._

_So they've journeyed farther inland  
__Though the Seal Lord's getting weak  
__And she's shouldering the shovel  
__To unearth the thing they seek  
__At the rising of the full moon  
__Underneath the elven oak  
__She has unearthed that faery treasure  
__Of which her grandmother spoke._

_Just before the stroke of midnight  
__They have made it back to sea  
__And she has donned the magic seal coat  
__And become a maid Selkie  
__Now they've gone into the ocean  
__Hand in hand into the sea  
__She has gone along  
__A fair seal bride for a Selkie._

_Dae dae dae da da dae dae..._

It was during the last verse of the song, when the applauding began and Airmed and Niamh kissed again, when Harry began to make his move. He put aside his goblet, and wash walked along the wall, keeping an eye on Morwen as he moved. Gods, she was beautiful!

The fiddles and flutes took up for another song, and of all luck, the group of woman left Morwen alone. Harry's heart began to beat hard and fast. He watched as she sat on top on one of the tables, just listening to the music.

"Is anyone sitting here?" Harry's mouth grew dry as she nodded her head without looking at him. He did not really want to talk at this moment. He felt wonderful simply being next to her. With the dancers coming out on the floor, Harry wanted nothing more than to watch them, and her.

Morwen turned to look at him, those forest green eyes peering at him. "So, you are Harrison Griffinswing, the green lightning that will help save us all." The look on her face made him feel like he was under a looking glass and was found to be wanting. Her voice was accented like Airmed's, but hers was like the rustling of leaves in the wind and the baying of hounds.

Harry sighed. "I'm sorry, but yes." This was not going at all as he intended.

Morwen turned to face him, crossing her legs before her on the table. "Why are you sorry?" She looked genuinely confused, her brow furrowed over those limpid forest eyes.

Harry scratched his head. "When people in Britain look at me, I can almost feel their thoughts. 'This is the boy that killed the Dark Lord?' They look at me and see a boy, but now more often or not, they see a lair, a fake, an attention-seeker… a murderer." Harry looked away. "I'm sorry… I didn't mean to tell you that."

He felt fingers on his cheek, pulling his face back to look at Morwen. He could not really make out what she was thinking. "Do you wish to know what I see?" She leaned back a bit, but she kept her hand on his cheek. "I see a young man that, in our time of need, offered us soup and blankets. I see the mean that stepped away from the wall and found Sir Marcus Wolfshead and watched over his sister as she grieved. I see the one that, when Sir Strongarm struck her to the ground before she dishonoured herself, gave Sir Airmed Wolfshead back her sword and gave her what comfort you could." A small grin came across her face, lighting up those eyes and making Harry's heart fill with thanks. "You are the saviour of two peoples, Harrison: us and your British. However, it does not go unnoticed when you give all that you can, without seeking anything in return. You are no boy, but you are a man worthy to be called 'Manx'. You have a strength of character that is the pride of those that have taught you."

She stood up and led Harry away to the wall, where they could sit without being bombarded by dancers. As the songs morphed from rambunctious war cries to slower romantic numbers, Harry and Morwen learned about each other.

Morwen, it turned out, was one of five children left in her line of the Whitemares. She was the eldest at eighteen. Her betrothed had died in the same scouting trip that had taken the life of Sir Drustan Wolfshead two years ago. Her father was dead, but her mother was a blue robe under Sir Greenblood. She herself was a blue-and-green robe serving under both Sir Greenblood and Sir Longwing.

As the night drew on, and midnight approached, the final song began to play.

_Bring to me all of my arrows,  
__Bring to me my longbow too.  
__I fear we might need them both  
__Before the night is through.  
__Once a world of glittering hope,  
__This world is not the world we knew.  
__The only light left to shine  
__Is between me and you._

_On our own  
__In a world of stone  
__We are not alone._

_So bring me mead and bring me ale,  
__To help us face this fight again.  
__Good fortune will shine down on us:  
__Together we will win!  
__And they will never break our spirit,  
__We will never turn and run.  
__And we will rise stronger still,  
__When we stand as one!_

_On our own  
__In a world of stone  
__We are not alone.  
__On our own  
__In a world of stone  
__We are not alone._

_So bring to me all of my arrows,  
__Bring to me my longbow too.  
__I fear we might need them both  
__Before the night is through._

Harry found his hand in Morwen's, as they simply relaxed against the wall. He felt Morwen's head rest against his shoulder. Oddly enough, he felt content.

"Tomorrow, when we fight," Harry heard Morwen say quietly, "I want you to promise me something, Harry. You need to promise me to come back alive." They looked into each other's faces. "I haven't felt this way in a long time, and you are its cause."

She sat up and moved Harry's hand over her heart, placing her hand on his. "You felt it when you saw me in the hall at your Opening Feast. I felt it when I saw you for the first time last Samhain."

Harry stopped her talking with a finger on her lips. "Feel that?" They were quiet for a while. "Morwen, with your permission, I want to get to know you, to court you. You're right. This feeling is like the earth stopped moving. But, this is the first time that you and I have even talked. I want to take this slow."

Morwen leaned away from him. "Harrison Griffinswing, do you take me to be your troth? To learn about me: my dreams and desires, my fears and my sorrows? To treat me with love and respect, and in time, become my husband?"

Harry nodded. "I do. Morwen Whitemare, do you take me to be your troth? To learn about me: my dreams and desires, my fears and my sorrows? To treat me with love and respect, and in time, become my wife?"

Morwen's smile was so wide, that it threatened to crack her face in two. "I do." She reached around her neck and took off a necklace. On it was a strung a man's claddagh ring of silver. "This was Aiden's. He would be glad to know that someone worthy wears his ring." She slipped it on his right ring finger so that the heart was facing him. Lifting her own hand, she showed Harry her claddagh ring, set with a grey stone. Gently, she took if off and twisted it, sliding it back on so that the heart was facing her.

Harry took his chance and kissed Morwen. She tasted of clover and sunlight, so wonderful! Their lips touched, but he did not force a deeper kiss. There was time, and there would be many more kisses.

They parted reluctantly. Morwen had closed her eyes, a look of ecstasy on her face. "Yes… that's what love feels like."

*HPatKoM*

**AN: So, what do you think? We're coming down to it, folks! The following is a list of songs played in this chapter, and appropriate links where you can hear them be played. Let me know what you think, huh? My reviewers have been rather quiet these last few chapters...**

"New Day Dawning", by Celtic Thunder (.com/watch?v=8eGrDfUGbeY) (YouTube)

"March of Cambreadth," by Heather Alexander (.com/watch?v=eCrnF844_ww) (YouTube)

"It All Winds Up in the Glass", by Vanessa Cardui (.com/artist/song_details/11051287) (Reverbnation)

"The Road to Camelot", by Enaid (.com/watch?v=Va_TBfVAn00) (YouTube)

"True and Destined King" by Heather Dale (.com/watch?v=PEkhF1tvnSI) (YouTube)

"Carter's War Song," by Heather Dale (.com/watch?v=jhzcyEvN-xc) (YouTube)

"Mo Ghile Mear" (Hail the Hero), by Celtic Thunder (no link, guys: sorry).

"The Maiden and the Selkie", by Heather Dale (.com/watch?v=gKxnRZe55ps) (YouTube)

"The Wolf's Head", by David Arkenstone (.com/watch?v=XYS5hC3bhIw) (YouTube)

"World of Stone", by Blackmore's Night (.com/watch?v=4qHdAOKoL18) (YouTube)


	27. A Tide in the Affairs of Men

**AN: My apologies, readers, for the complete lack of updates in the last few months. It has been hectic, but I graduate in three months, and my last practicum is taking up all of my time. The good news? I have most of this story completely written out and ready for update. However, I must ask for patience. This will be completed by the end of summer, at the latest.**

**Here's a new update, and a happy St. Patrick's Day!**

*HPatKoM*

Airmed laid in her bed, looking up at the ceiling. Noon had passed, and sunset was only hours away. In those hours, she would need to get ready. A small part of her wished to stop time, to never let this duel come closer. However, the larger part of her bound by her own code of honor looked forward to the completion of her oaths. All that she had fought for, had trained for, had bled for… all was coming together tonight with this duel.

She looked to her left, to Niamh sleeping soundly. His arms were wrapped around her, trying to keep her in bed for just a few minutes longer. A darker thought crossed her mind: he was trying to hold onto her for as long as possible, to keep her here with him, so that they could fight side by side. They had made love last night and going early into the morning, Niamh bringing her to the edge over and over until both of them were exhausted. However, it could not stop her endless thoughts on tonight.

She had received a message yesterday before the **ceili**. Iseult had agreed to the terms of the duel: sunset today; two weapons and magic; no death magic, but all others spells were deemed acceptable. The one term that made Airmed leery was that this duel was to be done in the old way: no chainmail armour. This duel was to be fought in leathers only, against steel weapons.

Airmed sighed and gently extricated herself from the arms of her husband, trying her best not to disturb him. He looked so peaceful as he slept on, such a rarity from the day's stressful toll on them both. Beside, this part of the day she had to do on her own.

Walking to her trunk, Airmed knelt and let the lock take her blood and accessed the sixth compartment. Not even Niamh has access to this part of her trunk. From its contents, you would wonder why. There was only a leather bag, worn with use and stained with salt.

Retreating a level to where she kept her tools as a priestess, Airmed gathered up her offering bowl and a flagon of mead, tucking them into the leather bag. She always had a blade on her, but it would not be needed for this. Before she opened the window, she penned a quick note: "_Niamh, my love: I'm in my usual place if I'm not here when you wake. Fear not: I will be back soon. Airmed._" Converting into her falcom form, she flew off, bag gripped tight in her talons.

Airmed had found this place in the first week of her stint as a Hogwarts student. It was within the Forbidden Forest, with the territory of the centaurs just bordering on it. She had met with their leader Magorian, and they settled on terms over oatcakes, roasted bird, and the centaur's fire liquor. He had chortled when she choked on the potency of the brew, but she had swallowed it all without spilling a drop. The terms were simple: she could visit the place whenever she wished, if she took care to respect the natural setting and leave no mess when she came. She completely agreed, knowing the power of sacred places. It was out of her way, but it was the perfect place. If she had the capacity in this form, she would have smiled when she landed.

A natural fountain gurgled out into a slow-moving brook that meandered into the trees and out of sight. Near it, there was a rock worn smooth with time, large enough to serve as a table for a single person… or as an altar. Around it were small saplings that the centaurs had planted, as well as a rock formation that served as a cairn. Within the cracks of the rocks, Airmed could still spot the flecks of pyrite, mica, and natural precious stones embedded within their depths. Somehow, the area around the cairn and the fountain was grassy with very few older trees, allowing for the sun to shine through as if by magic to illuminate the otherwise foreboding place.

Getting onto her human knees, Airmed placed the bowl near the river, the flagon inside of it. Her sure hands trembling just a bit, she took out nine small portraits from the leather bag. Placing them on the altar, she knelt back and looked upon them all.

Every Manxmen had statuettes or portraits of their dead loved one. It was a recent custom, as customs go. It was so that the dead would not be forgotten. Sometimes, they could even help those still living by offering a way to still talk with their fallen ones, in a way. Names were easy to remember, but it was the faces that faded with time. Airmed held this ritual every Samhain, and before a major engagement: it was so that she could 'talk' for her family. This duel was one of those occasions.

Lowering herself to sit on the dewy grass, Airmed looked on her family. "Today is the day that we had fought for: the day when the Darkness and the Light finally collide in the great battle that will end the war one way or another. I wish that you could be here with me…" She bit her lip, trying to imagine what her family's faces would look like if they could hear her.

"Mother, Father… Nuala, Cian, Saoirse, Padraic, Drustan… Marcus… Euan." She looked at his portrait the longest. She had looked after her youngest brother as best as she could, and even then she could not protect them from the arrow that pierced him through his lungs and out his back. That was the night when everything had changed.

"Please, be with me today. Watch out for me as I fight. Please, be with Niamh, too. He must not interfere with this, or else it would have all been for nothing." Airmed rubbed away a tear with the heel of her hand. "I love you all, but I hope not to be in Tir na nOg tomorrow. I want to live the life that we all wished for: one of peace."

There was nothing left to say. Airmed poured out a measure of mead into the bowl, before letting the water of the river and the dark peaty earth drink it up. She looked up at the sky: it was time to get ready.

She flew back to her room with all speed, and placed her portraits back in her trunk with care. Niamh was waiting for her in bed, the covers over his legs as he leaned against the wall. By the look on his face, he knew what she had been doing.

"They will be with you tonight, and so will I, my lovely wife." He jumped out of bed and hugged her, holding her tight to him.

"Niamh, **mo shearc**." Their kiss was tender, and it was exactly what she needed in that moment. "Help me."

"Of course." They gathered what was needed and went to work. They took almost two hours, but sunset was not yet coming. They had time.

First, she helped Niamh into his chainmail. Her fingers were unfailing as she did up the knots of his coif, but they were shaking a little once she was finished. As Niamh pulled on his tabard, she adjusted it to sit evenly on his broad shoulders. For a moment, she leaned against him, taking courage from his strength. His ungloved hands held her to him, not letting go until they could both move on. When she was ready, she took a step back and opened her trunk to where her sets of armour were kept.

Over the years, Airmed had barely worn her leathers. It was impractical in battle, and offered little protection against honed steel. Even if it were reinforced, a good clean stroke could end your life before you saw it coming. However, it was a part of the terms agreed and sworn on. Even Iseult would not risk her magic and her life over this. Neither would Airmed.

She bathed quickly, the cold water shocking the last remnants of sleep out of her system. She washed away the traces of lovemaking and sweat from her skin and hair, remembering the joy from last night and early this morning. Niamh looked after her sword and glaive, laying them out and cleaning them for her. When she dried off, Niamh sat behind her and braided her hair tight to her head. His fingers were deft as he weaved in little silver charms that he prayed would protect her: a triskell, an eagle feather, oak and rowan leaves, a miniature wolf's head, and a tiny dragon. He tied off each braid with leather dyed red, the color of courage.

As she laced up the straps to her armour, it laid bare against her skin and scars. One of the best attributes to the leather was that it allowed for more speed and maneuverability than the chainmail did. Barefoot on the stone floor, she wore a first layer of loose pants under a short-sleeved tunic and a band of leather that protect her breasts. Over that went a second thicker layer consisting of individual pieces for her shins, thighs, forearms, upper arms, shoulders, and torso. Her back was protected with another piece akin to loosely linked dragon scales. The palms of her hands were wrapped in a strip of worn leather, to give her the needed grip on her weapons. The last thing to be put on was a belt, on which hung the scabbard to her sword. She would carry her glaive into to the circle.

Niamh finished polishing her sword and sheathed it at her waist. His final touch was placing the torc that Queen Ethne had gifted her around her neck. Made of braided gold, it was tipped with a wolf's head on either end, their teeth snarling and hackles raised. It fit perfectly around her neck, the finials ending on her collarbones.

Airmed's final touch was the paint to her face. Following the examples of the Manxmen long past and the Celtic warriors of whom they were allies, she carefully applied vivid blue woad designs with her finger. She had never done this before, but she wanted to enter into this duel in the truest form of the old ways. She made two parallel lines across her right cheekbone, and one running from the tear duct of her left eye socket and curved under her cheekbone to end just before her ear. One line ran from under her nose to the tip of her chin. Now, she was ready.

A knock came from their door just as Airmed washed her hands of the excess dye. "Airmed? Niamh? It's time."

Airmed opened the door, and saw the knights that would serve as her escort down to the Black Lake, where the duel was to be held. Conn, Donnchadh, Sorcha, and Aunt Morgana all waited in full chainmail armour, torches in their hand. Taking a deep breath, Airmed Wolfshead began her walk, her husband at her back.

As they walked through the halls of Hogwarts, Airmed heard the students chatting happily in their last class before the supper hour. None of them cared that she was going to fight for them this night. If they cared, none of them had the courage to tell any of the Manxmen. She would be glad to be done with this place. She missed her home so dearly. She had received many letters from her many cousins safe in their refuge in Ireland, but a letter is not a hug, or a smile. Soon… very soon, she hoped to see them again.

Walking on the same beat, it was like a military procession as the six Knights of Mann made their way through the labyrinthine corridors and out to the front of the school. Not a one of them spoke a word. Nothing could be said at this point that would change their present course of action.

The air was still as they made their way to the shores of the Black Lake. The clearing in front of the lake appeared to be empty but for a few people.

Harry and Neville were standing by the lake, dressed in their chainmail and gripping the hilts of their swords. Neville looked calm, as he quietly spoke to his cousin Sir Longwing at his side. From the reports of their training masters and Niamh's opinion, with another year of intense and focused training, Neville Longbottom, Niall Longwing among the Manxmen, would make for a powerful green robe. Harry, on the other hand, looked nervous as he stood away from the group. However, he met Airmed's look and nodded his head. He was going to stick with the plan.

Dumbledore was stroking his long white bread and rolling on the balls of his feet, listening to Umbridge rant about one thing or another. Professors Snape, Sprout, and Sinastra were all waiting in silence, simply staring out at the lake with patient waiting in their postures. The King and Queen, as well as Prince Fionn and a few other knights, were standing near Harry and Neville. They were all dressed for battle, standing as still as statues.

"… endangering the students with this reckless fight! The Minister will be hearing of this!" Umbridge's face was red and contorted with rage.

"The Minister is well aware of this duel, Dolores." Dumbledore was acting calm, simply standing on the rocky shore. "The students will be locked in their dormitories under guard. They will not be in danger tonight." He looked up at Airmed, and nodded his head. "Besides, I do believe that Sir Wolfshead and the Knights of Mann intend to add further protections to the wards of Hogwarts."

Airmed nodded her head. She looked to the knights gathered, before turning to her husband. "Niamh, it's time." He walked towards her and kissed her deeply, before looking to his fellow knights.

Niamh grimly walked forward, and the ten knights gathered in a circle. Unsheathing their swords and pointing the tips into the ground, they drew on their power. Niamh looked at them all, his eyes glowing crimson red with the color of his magic. "By our blood, by our magic… by the steel of our swords and the steel of our wills… I activate these wards drawn in blood around Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. May they encircle and protect all those within its boundaries, as long as they remain whole."

A beam of multi-coloured magic shot out from the circle. The lights encircled Hogwarts Castle, breaking into parts and spiking at certain points along the grounds. At those points, the Manxmen had painstakingly drawn wards of protection in blood, waiting for this night. From those points, a dome of magical light grew and joined together in a seamless fashion. The dome covered the castle in all of its colours until it joined at its apex.

The knights looked up at each other, their magic glowing in their eyes. "By our will and by our steel, these wards will hold. They shall not break, and all within shall be safe. By the steel of Goibniu and Brigid, by the Sword of Nuada, by the Spear of Lugh, and the shillelagh of the Dagda, we shall fight… and we shall protect." As one, they sheathed their swords.

Sir Lionsbeard turned towards the castle, her hands raised and covered in an aura of her golden yellow magic. "Guardians of Hogwarts, arise and awake! The students of Hogwarts need your protection together! Arise and awake!" From even the great distance, one could hear stone creaking and grinding. Through the entranceway, the statues of knights that had been built into Hogwarts began to move and stand ready to defend their castle, their charges.

Once the wards were determined to be sound, Niamh returned to Airmed's side. They spoke quietly, out of earshot of everyone else. Umbridge tried to eavesdrop on their conversation, but Sir Longwing got a grip on the back of her robes and held her in place. Niamh leaned into her ear and whispered a prayer for her: that she be victorious, that she come back to him, and that she fulfill her oaths tonight. When they parted, he kissed her on the forehead and became a statue, keeping his emotions hidden under the Manx stoic mask that was typical of his people.

Airmed walked past the two Hogwarts teachers without any acknowledgement towards them. Placing her glaive on the ground, she got down on her knees before her monarchs, and two of her many foster parents. Bowing her head, she spoke quietly. "Your Majesties, Your Highness. May I ask for your blessings tonight?"

Prince Fionn placed his hand on her shoulder. "My sister in arms, may Nuada Argetlam and Lugh Samildanach bless you with speed and strength this night." He gently squeezed her shoulder. "I will stand by you, and offer you all that I have to give."

King Nuada placed his hand on her other shoulder. "My daughter in all but blood, may the Morrigan support your case today as you send the Kinslayer and Dark One to her. May you fulfill your oath today, and live to tell of it tomorrow."

Queen Ethne placed her hands on Airmed's temples. "May Manannan mac Lir guard you tonight, daughter of my heart. May Danu, mother of us all, and Brighid, goddess of the forge, the hearth, and the bards, keep you safe this night. By land, sea, and sky, by the will of the gods, by the strength of your blood, may you find victory in this duel."

As she stood and took her glaive back in hand, Airmed looked over to the forest. The hairs on the back of her neck were raised, and an ill feeling began to creep into her gut. She, and the other Manxmen, could feel it. Her words were quiet, but everyone present could hear them.

"They are coming."


	28. Cry Havoc and Let Loose the Dogs of War

The air picked up to the force of a gale storm in less than a minute, blowing detritus into faces and causing Umbridge to fall to the ground. There was the sound of troops marching coming from throughout the forest, and the howl of dogs singing into the ears of those that had wished to witness. The sky, lit with stars and the full moon only moments before, grew black and clouded over with an unnatural mist that zoomed over the ground.

There in front, leading the slow-marching vanguard, was the limping Iseult Blackone leaning against a quarterstaff. Transforming her eyes into those of a hawk, Airmed observed that her enemy was wearing a similar suit of leather as she was. Her sword was stuck into her belt, and in her other hand was the handle of her morningstar, the chain and ball slung over her shoulder as she walked. Her grin was gone, for once, but the seared sneer on her smug face made Airmed's hackles rise.

On either of Iseult's sides walked twenty of the Cwn Annwn, the last of their kind. Their pure white fur was offset by the blood-red of their eyes and ears. The alpha immediately to the right of Iseult let loose a howl to the hidden moon, sending chills down the spines of everyone present.

After Euan's death, Airmed, Marcus, and Niamh had made it their personal vendetta to destroy them all, in retribution of all of their family those hounds of the Otherworld had slaughtered. Obliterating their numbers from the hundreds to only twenty made Airmed smile grimly at her accomplishment.

Behind Iseult and her loyal hounds, dark sorcerers, garbed all in black and armed to the teeth, and dullahans, hooded and cloaked, walked in an intimidating formation. The dullahans were armed with their otherworldly swords only, their hidden eyes staring out at their next possible victims. In amidst the sorcerers, many of whom Airmed had grown up with at the Academy or who she recognized from the battlefield, were people were white masks. From Dumbledore's intelligence, these mask-wearing folk were Death Eaters, Voldemort's contribution to the vast army that they now faced. At the back were ten giants, dragging their clubs behind them and looking dimwittedly brutal.

As the Dark Army neared the lake where Airmed and her scraggly band of witnesses stood, the black mist along the ground coagulated into a human form at Iseult's left side. Voldemort's serpentine face smirked at Airmed as he fingered his wand. His glaring red eyes made him appear to be of the Sidhe, but he was nothing more than a perversion, an abomination to magic. He seemed eager for the approaching battle.

When the massive army finally stopped a football field's length away from Airmed and her witnesses, Iseult walked forward casually, as if this was nothing more than a simple conversation between old acquaintances. Airmed walked forward into the neutral zone to meet her. "It's a lovely night to meet with the Morrigan, wouldn't your agree?" Iseult's hand rested on her sword's pommel, as she looked across the lake.

"It would be, but I have no plans to meet with her tonight." Airmed's voice was just as light, belying the steel blade that she twirled in her hand.

"Your side seems to be a little bare tonight, she-wolf." Iseult's smirk returned. "Do your people think that you were too arrogant to accept this arrangement of ours, or are they just afraid to see their champion fall?" She chuckled a few times, her sneer growing deeper.

Airmed cocked an eyebrow as she turned to look at her witnesses. "Really, Iseult? Are you sure that you're not just seeing things?" Airmed put two fingers into the corners of her mouth and whistled sharply.

As if a massive curtain had been pulled aside, the entire first company of the Manx Armed Forces appeared as if out of nowhere: three hundred battle-hardened knights and soldiers, dressed and armed for the fight of their lives. Ferrovax and his dragon kin stood side by side with **Airgead-****Sciathán** and her griffins at the back, numbering easily two hundred all told. The soldiers and knights were in tight lined formations, giving away nothing in their faces or postures. The entire group was augmented with both armies of the Unseelie and Seelie Courts, five hundred additional troops. All of the soldiers and creatures standing behind Airmed were stone-faced, and they were almost double the number of Dark Ones on the field. That did not include the thirty or so wizards that Dumbledore was able to summon. The Order of the Phoenix would fight alongside the Manxmen, although many looked queasy at the thought of fighting alongside the foreign mages.

Iseult nodded her head, tossing her staff to the ground. "I'm impressed, Airmed. But come now… let's to business."

They moved to the area between their two forces, the two old foes motioning to their forces to remain where they were. Voldemort took this moment and spoke up, the disdain dripping from his voice like corn syrup. "Well, Dumbledore… It appears as if you were unsuccessful in telling the world that I was back." He chortled. "Pity… I was hoping for more of a challenge."

Umbridge's jaw fell in horror. "But… but… you can't be real! You can't be back! This must be a trick!" Her head twisted between Dumbledore and Voldemort so fast, that if she spun any quicker, her head would have fallen to the ground. Her face was pale and her eyes were wide. Then, the anger kicked in. With a red face akin to Filch, she turned on Dumbledore and whipped her wand out, its tip pointing at the Headmaster. "You brought He-Who-Must-No-Be-Named here? What about the students? You traitor!"

"I grow tired of your whining." Voldemort lifted his hand to point at one of his Death Eaters. "Shut her up, would you, Yaxley? Keep her alive, though, until after this duel."

"Your wish is my command, my lord." A man in a white mask flicked his wand. "_Silencio!"_

Voldemort turned to Iseult, a quick look on his face that morphed from disdain to contempt. "You had better be quick, Manxman. I wish this to be over with soon."

"Patience, ally of mine. Rituals run deep in our race." Iseult raised her voice from where she stood. "You will have your battle, but not yet."

Conn and Donnchadh moved at an unseen signal, unsheathing their swords and drawing a twenty-foot circle in the rocky shore. "Let no one enter this circle while both inside still live. Let no man, creature, or spirit enter while both combatants still live. Only once one is dead, may this circle and ward be broken." When the circle was completed, both men cut their palms and activated the ward with their blood. Green and red flames lit up around the fighters, burning in a massive circle with the combined force of the magical powers.

As soon as the ward was complete, Iseult moved in with the attack, tossing a ball of pure flame at Airmed, but she was too slow to aim at the Airmed-wolf charging at her. Airmed lunged at Iseult's knees, but was taken down with a roaring blow from the morningstar. Airmed flew back and landed just inside the wards and transformed back into a human. Iseult sneered at the sight of Airmed laying on the ground, cradling her ribs as she stood up and grimaced. The crack against her torso broke ribs, but she still fought on.

Working as quickly as a lightning strike, both drew their swords and the duel began in earnest. Airmed used a high guard, while Iseult employed a low guard. Both women were well matched in all ways, reacting to their moves and working through the unseen patterns of the sword's dance. Attacking and defending, both knew of every move that the other was going to make. Both had been trained by the same man for six years, with the same technique and same weapons. The advantage kept switching from one woman to another, never wielding more than an inch. They traveled around the entire circle, never touching the flames but coming close constantly.

Harry stood aside, watching the parries and ripostes come and go, watching the crescent swings of the steel blades glow in the moonlight. Blood began to pour as the blades made contact with skin over and over, always in areas that would be lethal if the blows were deep enough. Airmed was at a disadvantage with her broken ribs. Still, she never gave an inch. The look on her face and the way that she held her blade was enough to made normal men wet themselves in abject terror.

Manxmen, however, were not normal men. They had been pounded against anvils their entire life, knowing nothing but service to their country, to their monarchs. For a race that was declared backwards by magical Britain, they were some of the more selfless people that Harry ever had the honor of meeting. Even now, as Airmed was fighting with all that she had against someone that had taken everything away from her, she was not doing it just for herself and for her oaths. She had sworn an oath to the Isle to give up everything, if that was what was needed, to serve.

Iseult's sword glowed with power and became three glowing black blades against Airmed's one, each fighting independently of the other. His teacher, however, saw through the illusion and tried to stab Iseult in the stomach. It was not deep enough, leaving only a long gash. It was Iseult's turn to cry out in pain, but she growled at Airmed and stood straight for the fight.

The sword duel continued, but no one saw Iseult reach for the hilt of her sword and dislodge something. The crowd only saw the sword transform into the morningstar and crack against Airmed's leg, injuring her knee. No one in the Manx 1st Company moved a muscle when Airmed screamed in agony as she dropped her sword and cradled her knee against the fall.

Airmed fell to the ground with a stifled cry, and a cheer of victory rose from the dark army. Iseult stood over the fallen form of her foe, her sneer wide and grimacing. Harry and Neville held back Niamh from interfering, although they wanted nothing more than to join him. Airmed had given them both strict instructions, and they had no choice but to follow her command.

"You stupid girl. I should have killed you, when I took your eye." Iseult raised her sword and skewered Airmed in the meat of her leg, getting another scream of agony from her foe. Being petty, Iseult cocked her fist and punched Airmed's temple, dazing her. "You meddlesome little fool. Well, now we know that the Light will never win! The Darkness is stronger, more powerful, and we will always win!" She raised her head and laughed to the skies.

Iseult did not take into account that the duel was still on, or that Airmed was not dead yet. She was glad to enjoy the moment, to savour her victory near at hand. She stood and turned her back on Airmed, basking in the cheers of her vast army.

Iseult never noticed Airmed come to stand on her good leg, or reach for the glaive that she had tossed on the ground at the very beginning of the duel. She never saw the crescent swing of the blade's razor's edge as Airmed walked on shaky legs and struck her from behind. She only felt unexpected agony of her own as Airmed sliced through her back. The cheers from the dark army became horrified and surprised silence as they saw their leader fall to the ground.

"Lesson the first, Iseult: never turn your back on your enemy until they are dead." Airmed's voice was the only sound on the field. Her breathing was ragged as she watched her once-friend's legs crumple underneath her and fall to the ground. Airmed tilted her head, a look of calm rage on her face. "Your once-father taught us that."

Iseult managed to turn onto her back and try a last burst of fire magic, but Airmed deflected it with a wave of her hand. "How… it's not possible!"

Airmed did not listen to her pleas. "For my parents… for my brothers, Cian, Padriac, Drustan… for my sisters, Nuala and Saoirse… for Marcus…" Airmed's glaive glowed with blue light. She raised the blade and severed Iseult's throat. "For Euan." Blood gurgled from Iseult's throat as the dark sorcerer tried to gasp and speak. The red stained the sand and rocks as Iseult breathed her last few breaths.

The whole fight felt anticlimactic, but it was over. As quickly as she could muster, Airmed sprayed the corpse of her foe with Ravenclaw blue flames. The heat of the flames seared the air and roasted Iseult's body until it was charred black. Behind him, Harry heard a few people vomit at the smell.

The wards around the dueling circle dropped, and Airmed summoned her sword to her hand. Raising the steel high, Airmed let loose a battle cry. "FOR MANN!" The ringing of steel rang out as the entire Manx force charged forward, roaring the cry. The dark ones reeked of fear, but also of rage. They retaliated, and both forces crashed together like a tidal wave.

And so it was that the final battle between Light and Dark began.

Spell and swords flashed as both sides screamed in defiance. Ferrovax and **Airgead-****Sciathán **led their kin in destroying the Cwn Annwn and dullahans, roaring swatches of fire and talons raised to attack. Death Eater and dark one attacked chaotically, falling to the blades and arrows of Manxmen. Dumbledore engaged Bellatrix Lestrange and Lucius Malfoy at once, swinging spells left and right with a vigour that defied his age. Tonks and Remus took on Fenrir Greyback and his werewolves, joined by the Seelie Queens and one hundred warriors. Sirius and Molly Weasley killed Macnair after a bloody duel.

Harry felt the pull of Voldemort and his magic, and remember what Airmed told him two weeks prior…

_ "Voldemort used a Manx ritual and the strength of the Darkness under Nudd and then Iseult to gain long life. He uses energy from the darkness to stay alive… It was an old Manx ritual of bone, blood, and flesh that gave him form three years ago. As long as the Darkness was holding great power, he could survive without a body… The only reason that you nearly defeated him as an infant was because your mother sent all of her magic into you in a force of love, and it almost destroyed his link with the Darkness… With Iseult dead, and the Darkness in disarray without a single form to coalesce around, he will be weak… Take the energy from him somehow, and he can be defeated with a single strike of a sword…"_

During his time training at Longbottom Cottage, Airmed had taught Harry how to access the knowledge of black robes deceased and gone without going insane. One of the black robes of his familiar line, Sir Myrddin Griffinswing, had created a spell to leech energy from his foes. It was not a complicated spell, but the will must be strong, and the thoughts could not be interrupting.

Dividing his mind in two, Harry focused on the sword fight at hand, but also on latching onto Voldemort's magical core. As Harry fought, he kept a strong hand on the threads of magic that he had sent out to drain Voldemort. The energy he was draining away was oily and slick against his magic; it felt completely alien and wrong. Harry contained it within himself, working quicker as he fought his way through the anarchy.

Voldemort, like Iseult, felt it too late as he saw his spells grow weaker and weaker. The mighty Dark Lord felt as though he was fighting in quicksand, slowly losing his ability to focus. Like Airmed before him, Harry raised his blade high and sliced down Voldemort. The Dark Lord never saw the blade that sliced his back from shoulder to hip.

Faling to his knees, Voldemort's disbelieving face turned and took in Harry dressed in his Manx uniform, his sword bloody and his chainmail shining in the moonlight. "You… you can't be…" Harry saw it writ clearly on his face: Voldemort did not recognize him. He thought that Harry was just some nameless Manx knight that had usurped the prophecy.

Harry did not even deign to respond to the dying man's pleas. Instead, he drove his sword through Voldemort's heart, its tips stained black and bloody as it appeared through his back. It went through cleanly, but it resulted in a whiplash of energy and magic as Harry simultaneously released the pent-up energy that he had taken away. As Voldemort's body turned to ash, all of his followers fell underneath the sonic wave. The dark sorcerers turned to flee, but they fell to the Manx blades. Splinters of wands littered the ground.

There was no time to celebrate. The Manx soldiers, all bloodied and bruised and some broken, gathered the Death Eaters and snapped their wands. Airmed emerged from the battle leaning on Prince Fionn as she limped to where the remaining dark ones and Death Eaters were made to kneel. For every dark one (one hundred sixty-four, by the final tally), there was a Manx soldier with a blade ready.

Airmed let go of Fionn and stood as straight as she could next to her King and queen, coughing up some blood from her broken ribs. Her leg was dripping blood, but it appeared to be not as dire as it was first believed. Her wounds were many, but only her leg and ribs appeared to be in dire need of a blue robe. "You, who allied with the Dark Lord Voldemort and Iseult Blackone, are guilty of war crimes against the sovereignty of the Isle of Mann." She was silent as King Nuada shouted out his declaration over the battlefield. "As such, you are sentenced to death. May the gods have mercy on your souls."

Dumbledore tried to protest, but it was too late. Every soldier lifted their blade and executed every remaining man and woman on their knees. There was no trial, because it was not necessary. Every one of them had fought against Mann under Iseult's command of the Darkness and by her alliance with Voldemort.

Neville and Harry, both blood stained and battle-weary, were near Airmed when she fell to the ground. All of the knights near her, Fionn, Niamh, Conn, Donnchadh, rushed to her side in slow motion. Niamh tried to shake her, but she was slow to respond. Her hands reached to cradle her side, protecting her broken ribs from being jostled further. Harry saw the confused look on her face, before she opened her moth and let loose a scream of agony. Sorcha ran to her and had her cadre of blue robes transport her to the infirmary.

He only heard a few words, before he closed his eyes and prayed to the gods: "Her wound is poisoned."


	29. What Wound did Ever Heal but by Degrees?

**AN: Hey, readers! We're getting down to the end of this story. It's been a wonderful journey. ****Cheers to all of my readers, especially CelestialMacabre, who had reviewed every chapter. Thanks for all of your input!**

**This chapter is different from others, in that there is a fair bit of Manx and Gaelic dialogue. The translations are at the bottom of the chapter. If any of the words are wrong, please drop me a note. As I don't speak either language, help would be welcome if I have made mistakes.**

**Onto the chapter!**

*HPatKoM*

The first hour following the battle was foggy for Harry. He felt almost disjointed from this world, like he had one half of himself grounded and the other half dosed with mushroom and vervain tea. There were moments of clarity, and then they would mix with others. He could only remember bits and pieces of the night, only key moments in the aftermath.

He remembered when he walked into the Gryffindor common room after the battle, telling everyone that the battle was over, and that Voldemort was dead. Before he entered, he had glamoured his chainmail and tabard into Hogwarts robes. The students still had to stay here for the time being, but the worst was over. The cheers in the common room celebrated not only with the death of the Dark Lord, but also with the prospect that the Manxmen were finally leaving. Seamus came to him and told him how the Manxborn could assist in the aftermath's effort. He pointed him towards the Great Hall for further instructions.

There were the looks on Hermione and Ron's faces as they found him in the milling crowds. Hermione wrapped her arms around him in a constricting hug that threatened to crush him, screaming in name in joy that Airmed was leaving. Ron tried to give him a manly hug once Hermione had let go of him, but they had the audacity to look hurt when Harry backed away from them and told them to take their celebrations elsewhere.

He remembered Remus and Sirius finding him after the battle. They both hugged him, saying how proud they were of him. Sirius told Harry straightforward that he planned to move to the Isle with him. Remus told him the same thing only a beat afterward, saying that the Sidhe Queens had offered to teach him how to embrace and control his wolf, instead of imprison it with the Wolfsbane Potion. Harry nodded to them, and went back to work.

Harry remembered helping to transport the wounded on stretchers into the Great Hall, transformed into a makeshift hospital. He had no skills as a blue robe, so he took on the role of helper. Be it giving out warm blankets or potions, or bandaging wounds, or helping the blue robes to attend to injuries, Harry helped out where he could. He saw Neville and the Manxborn of Hogwarts assisting as well, their faces grim as they tended to the wounded and dying. These men and women were a part of his family now. They had suffered so much, but it was not yet over. The hardest part was covering the faces of the dead with blankets, and leaving them to attend to others. The funerals in two days time would be numerous. Many tears would be shed, many wails and screams gone unheard by the gods and by the dead.

The primal screams from the Hogwarts infirmary echoed throughout the castle, making those working pause and lift their heads in sorrow. Every time Airmed bellowed from the pain of whatever they were doing to her, it scarred the hearts of all that were listening. Airmed had given so much up in safeguarding the Isle. She had watched all of her brothers and sisters sail to Tir na nOg. She had defeated the Blackone, and had fulfilled her oaths. Prayers went up to the gods that she would be saved, brought through this final ordeal whole. It would be cruel, indeed, if after all that she had sacrificed to protect them, that she did not have a chance to live.

He remembered hearing the final tally. Of the Manx, fifty-six soldiers and knights had lost their lives. Three dragons and eight griffins were lost, and ninety-four soldiers of the Sidhe Courts were dead. For the Darkness, there were one hundred forty-eight Death Eaters dead, twenty Cwn Annwn, thirty-two werewolves under Fenrir Greyback, forty-eight dullahans, six trolls, and two hundred eight-seven dark sorcerers: all dead. The losses were great, but they could have been worse.

He remembered Draco coming to him and asking for Harry to ask Conn for a meeting. He wanted to request asylum on the Isle for himself as a scion of the Blacksun line, and for those Slytherin Manxborn. He had seen his father among the dead, and knew that Britain was no longer safe for him or for those Slytherins that were not sworn to the Dark Lord. They would be hunted down, ostracized, or worse. Harry nodded, and told Draco that he would talk to Conn, but not right away. Draco had to be content with that.

The blurring of the events stopped when Harry saw a familiar tabard sitting among the dead. He finished bandaging the injuries of a soldier, and walked towards a figure sitting on the ground, her arms wrapped around her knees. Morwen was silently weeping for the figure laying on the ground in front of her.

"She's gone, Harry. My mother's gone." She leaned against him, the tears falling down her face. "I don't know what to do. I don't know what to tell my family. I can't do this without her."

Harry pulled her closer to him, kissing her temple as she quietly keened. "You have me, **mo shearc**. You have your cousins. I swear to you: I will never leave you. We will do this together."

Another scream ripped through the air. Morwen cringed, covering her ears. "Gods, make it stop. What is happening to her? Make it stop…"

Harry spotted a blue robe nearby, and turned to look at his future wife. "Morwen, I will check on Airmed. But there is work to be done, and many who need your help." He motioned for the blue robe. "We will tell your family together." He kissed her once again on the cheek, and stood up to leave.

Harry made his way to the infirmary, trying to block out all of the screams coming from that direction. He wanted to go there, but his courage began to fail him as Airmed howled in agony. He had to stop for a moment to swallow back his bile-mixed fear before opening the doors to the infirmary. What he saw would scar him for the rest of his life.

Airmed was on one of the beds, her back arching and her limbs flailing. The cords in her neck were taut as she clenched her jaw and bit back another scream. Niamh, Donnchadh, Conn, and Torniach, still blood-stained and battle-weary, were at each of the bed's corners, holding her down at best as they could. By her left upper leg, Sorcha was focusing her magic to cut away the poisoned flesh before it could spread further; by the look of her face, you could not tell that she even heard Airmed's bellows of pain. Harry could smell the injury more than he could see it: it was pungent, musty, and sharp, like rotten plants and wet earth. As he got closer, he saw that Airmed's injury was blackened and oozing a purulent yellow fluid. Prince Fionn and Gwydion Strongtree, one of Sorcha's apprentice blue robes, were busy holding back Madam Pomfrey from attacking the knights.

"For Merlin's sake, stop it! This is barbaric! Give her a Calming Draught! Don't let her be awake during this!" Madam Pomfrey was fighting against Gwydion and Fionn with all of her might, but the young apprentice was built like a professional boxer. Fionn was a knight of the Isle, and he has the physique of a professional rugby forward. She was getting nowhere near Airmed without a fight.

"Gods! You call yourself a Medi-Witch?" Sorcha managed to roar louder over Airmed, making herself be heard while not breaking her focus on the task at hand. "I don't know if a Calming Draught will work on her, because I don't know what kind of poison this is! If I give her your damned potion, it might make the poison work faster! Be quiet, woman, and let me work!"

Harry knew what he could do to help in this situation. Moving quickly to the head of Airmed's bed, he placed his hands on either side of her head, closed his eyes, and used the same leeching spell that had killed Voldemort not even two hours ago. This time, he spoke the words under his breath and dove into the core of his mentor.

Unlike the slick oily presence of Voldemort's magic, Airmed's core was like an ocean. Her magic was blue of all hues, crashing against Harry to protect itself. She did not recognize him, but that was to be expected. Even in practice, Harry never tried this technique on Airmed. As he breathed in and out, he began to drain some of her energy and took it into himself. He did not try to drain her magic, but he was gathering the energy that radiated from it. If he took enough of it, it would exhaust Airmed enough to allow her to lie quietly on the bed without too much of a struggle.

As Harry slowly harvested more and more of Airmed's energy, he kept it contained within himself until he was finished. It did not take as long as he thought it would. After fighting a massive battle and then fighting off this poison for as long as she had, Harry was amazed to find the reserves that he had discovered. It was as if Airmed had been ferreting away energy into pockets of herself, in case she would need them during a fight. All Harry had to do was find some of those pockets and drain them, without too much searching and probing.

When he was finished, Harry opened his eyes and wobbled away from the bed. The six knights in the room watched as he fell to the floor and slapped his hands to the stone. He felt like he was going to throw up, but he kept his focus on draining the taken energy from him back into nature. He felt small waves of magic leave him, until he had given all of the excess energy away.

A hand reached for his shoulder, and helped him to sit against the leg of an unused bed. Harry's vision was blurry, but he was able to make out Prince Fionn crouching in front of him. _"Gura mie ayd, Flah Crooinagh Fionn."[1] _He took Fionn's other hand and slowly stood up, only to drop onto the bed behind him. Somewhere in the back of Harry's mind, he knew to keep up his Manx mage persona. Madam Pomfrey would, no doubt, run to Dumbledore and tell her that Harry Potter had joined the Manxmen if she found out. To help, he switched out of speaking English.

Niamh stared at him, fear evident in his eyes. **"****Cad a rinne tú****léi****?****"[2]** Harry looked over to Airmed and saw that she was still awake, but was slumped against the bed. It was like all of the fight had gone from her. The four knights slowly let go of her limbs, but they remained close by just in case Airmed began to fight again. Sorcha nodded her head, and beckoned Gwydion over to assist her in debriding the injury. Airmed moved her head a little and whimpered, but she was not fighting anymore.

Harry understood Niamh's worry**. "****Draenáilte**** mé roinnt dá cuid fuinnimh ar shiúl ó di. Anois, ní bheidh sí ag troid le linn oibreacha Sorcha. Beidh sí a fháil ar ais ar an fhuinnimh, leis an am agus an chuid eile.****"[3]** Niamh nodded a few times, before he conjured a chair and sat by his wife's side. Harry could make out his lips moving: Niamh was praying, but to whom, Harry did not know.

Madam Pomfrey, finally released, stalked her way over to Harry. Without even asking his permission first, she began to cast a diagnostic spell on him. "You seem to be injured as well, young man." Her voice was terse: it was rare that her authority was usurped in her own infirmary. She did not notice Prince Fionn's back straighten, or his face go tight with anger. She did not seem to realize that she was talking to the person that had killed Voldemort, who had saved their world from a war that they would probably never recover from. Harry heard her mumble under her breath about the stubbornness of Isle-folk.

Harry nodded to her, not stopping her for the moment but taking note of the insult. "They are not serious, madam. It can wait until the blue robes are finished with the others." He made his voice sink into a fictitious Irish accent, helping his disguise along. Pretending to scratch his head, Harry made sure to hide his scar with a hank of his hair. He had not been recognized so far, but caution was never uncalled for.

Pomfrey snorted with disdain, and ignored Harry's request. She began to read through the spell's results, a moue of fury made complete with her lips pursed so tight that they were turning white. "What's your name?"

"Call me Griffinswing." Harry began to feel ill at ease in her presence, and wanted her to stop. "Please, madam, I wish to wait for the blue robes."

"I shan't treat a man by his last name. What can I call you?" She, apparently, had lost all sense of listening.

Harry pushed her away and held a hand up in front of him. "Madam, thrice now I tell you. I wish to wait for the blue robes to treat me. Thrice now, you have ignored my wishes. I will not be treated by a woman who sees it fit to force her will upon me, while insulting my countrymen when she believes that I can't hear her. Now leave, before I make you leave." His hand began to glow with his emerald green magic. His face had turned into a stony grimace. Tired and battle-weary he may have been, but no longer would he be pushed over by those in authority.

Madam Pomfrey's mouth opened and closed like a fish, before she stalked away. The crack of the door as she slammed it shut resounded through the infirmary. She might have even chipped some of the stone wall.

The Manxmen looked at each other with incredulous looks on their faces. Torniach turned to Harry, his arms folded over his chest. **"****An bhfuil****ceol tíre****na Breataine****i gcónaí****mar seo?****"****[4]** He looked behind him at the door once more. **"****Conas a fuair**** tú a bhainistiú gealtacht a sheachaint gach ceann de na mblianta?****"****[5]**

**"****Leis an gcleachtas****i bhfad****.****"****[6]** They all laughed a bit, finally letting their exhaustion take hold. It was hard to believe that it was all over. Everything that they had been fighting for, what they had been trained to do… finally, Mann was at peace. With the main forces of the Darkness destroyed, and with no clear leader in place and only splinter fighters left, their next goal was rebuilding their homes.

Airmed groaned from her bed. Everyone turned and faced her. Niamh grabbed her hand. "_Moir… Ayr…[7] _Marcus…" She tried to raise her hand, as if she was reaching for something. "_Ny kied mee ayns shoh… Gow mee lesh shiu."[8]_

**"****Ní mór duit**** fanacht anseo, Airmed. Fan anseo, le liom.****"****[9]** Tears fell down Niamh's face as he held onto her hand. Airmed showed no signs of listening. Instead, her eyes rolled back into her head as she finally gave up.

Sorcha and Gwydion stood up from their work, their faces grimly smiling. Sorcha placed a section of Airmed's poisoned skin into a container. _"__Anois__, is féidir léi codlata. Beidh mé ar ais i dhá uair an chloig ar an am. Faoin am sin, beidh a fhios agam cad Iseult nimhe a úsáidtear. Tar éis sin, is féidir linn tús a chóireáil. Ach do anois, lig di codlata.__"[10]_ She turned and faced the knights, her eyes moist with tears. She placed a hand on Niamh's shoulder. _"__Ná bíodh__ eagla, Niamh. Ní bheidh mé in iúl do bhean chéile, ná mo iníon altrama, bás. Ní lá atá inniu ann.__"_[11]She left with the speed of a galloping horse, bumping into Dumbledore as he walked into the infirmary.

He looked around at everyone, a sad smile on his face. He walked up to Airmed's bed and stood at the front of it. His grandfatherly look did nothing to relieve the tension in the room. Conn and Donnchadh sat next to Harry on the bed's edge. Prince Fionn leaned against the sink where he had helped restrain Madam Pomfrey. Torniach took up a space against the wall. Not a one of them cared that the Headmaster was here.

"It is over." Dumbledore, underneath his own sense of tiredness, smiled. "Thank you, Knights of Mann." He nodded to every one of them, but paused when he came to Harry. "I thought that I knew every face among the Manxmen staying at Hogwarts, but I do not know yours. May I know your name, brave sir? I understand that it was you that killed Voldemort this night."

At first, Harry wanted nothing more than to say nothing, to ignore the man that had manipulated him for so long. Instead, he looked to Prince Fionn. **"****Ba chóir dom a****insint dó****?****"********[12]**

Fionn looked at Dumbledore, before sighing. **"****D'fhéadfá chomh maith****. Beidh sé fháil amach bhealach amháin nó eile. Níos fearr go mbeadh sé uait.****"********[13]**

Harry looked to Dumbledore, moving his hair aside to show his faint scar. "I'm surprised, Headmaster, that you don't recognize me."

It was rare that Dumbledore allowed himself to look shocked, but this was one of those occasions. His eyes had lost all their twinkle, and his jaw and white beard dropped. "Harry… When did you-"

"Not tonight, Headmaster. Wait until my teacher has healed, and then you will have all of your answers." Harry dismissed him, too angry and too exhausted to care if he had disrespected Albus Dumbledore. Tonight, he was just a man. Harry was just a man as well, but a man who had had enough. The rest of it could wait…

It had to.

* * *

[1] Thank you, Crown Prince Fionn. (Manx).

[2] What did you do to her? (Gaelic)

[3] I drained some of her energy away from her. Now, she will not fight while Sorcha works. She will gain the energy back, with time and rest. (Gaelic)

[4] Are British folk always like this? (Gaelic)

[5] How did you manage to avoid insanity all of these years? (Gaelic)

[6] With much practice. (Gaelic)

[7] Mother… Father… (Manx)

[8] Do not leave me here… Take me with you. (Manx)

[9] You must stay here, Airmed. Stay here, with me. (Gaelic)

[10] Now, she can sleep. I will be back in two hour's time. By then, I will know what poison Iseult used. After, we can begin to treat. But for now, let her sleep. (Gaelic)

[11] Do not fear, Niamh. I will not let your wife, nor my foster-daughter, die. Not today. (Gaelic)

[12] Should I tell him? (Gaelic)

[13] You might as well. He will find out one way or another. Better that it be from you. (Gaelic)


	30. A Ministering Angel

In the days following the Battle of Hogwarts, as many were now calling it, life appeared to go on as it had before. The students continued to go to class, and those teachers still able to teach without aggravating their injuries continued with their lesson plans. Points were gained and lost, and everyone was looking forward to the Halloween feast.

For the Manxmen and the Manx-born students, life had taken a sobering turn. The Great Hall was turned into a massive makeshift infirmary to deal with the wounded. Many were seen by blue robes and were treated, but some were still too incapacitated to be safely moved to another place. The King and Queen organized the funerals, and all of the honorable dead were sent off to Tir na nOg. Ferrovax and Airgead-Sciathán had performed their own death rituals for their fallen. The roars of the two mighty creatures chilled the souls of all that could hear them: it sounded so feral, but grief was feral in its own way. The Sidhe Courts had returned to the Isle to evaluate what needed to be undertaken before Mann was inhabitable again. However, there was something even more sobering.

Airmed Wolfshead and Harry Potter-Griffinswing, the saviours of both magical Britain and the Isle of Man, were both in the infirmary. If you went in to visit with either of them, the sight of them would break your heart.

Harry sat on a chair at the foot of Airmed's bed. He was dressed in rumpled Manx clothes, which brought up questions among the Hogwarts students. None of them were brave enough to ask him why, though. His hair had been roughly tied back into a horsetail, but parts of it draped around his face in ragged ends. Dark hair formed a shadow around his chin. The lack of proper meals gave Harry a gaunter look, making him seem more like a corpse than a human being.

His actions did not assist him in that manner. He barely slept or ate. He showered only when he could smell his own body odour. Only when someone pulled him away to lay on a bed, or put food in his hands, would he acknowledge another person's presence. He kept a vigil at the foot of Airmed's bed, watching over his mentor.

There were constant visitors for him, but one stood out in particular. Whenever Ron or Hermione or Ginny would visit Harry, he would tell them to leave. He did not want to talk to them, nor did he want to listen to them banter about Airmed or the Manxmen or even the weather. They had no purpose being there. When Morwen came and visited him, she was the only one able to coax him into bed, the one that would sit next to him and wrap her hand around his to keep him company in his vigil.

Airmed was even worse. As Sorcha promised, within two hours after she had finished her initial debridement, she had uncovered what poison Iseult had used. It was a deadly mixture, indeed: a concoction of Cwn Annwn blood, dullahan tears, adder and viper venoms, larkspur, and jimsonweed. With that, she could finally prescribe the correct potion to induce a coma in Airmed. In that state, Sorcha could continue her treatment without Airmed fighting her. Harry watched as Sorcha first cut away the rest of the ulcerated skin and then used her magic to go deeper into Airmed's leg and isolate the rest of the unseen aspects from the healthy tissue of her body. With that, she used various potions and salves to cover that injury to draw out the poison. This meant constant monitoring.

If Harry looked haggard as he watched over Airmed, Airmed looked positively ghoulish. She was constantly restrained to the bed, using old-fashioned leather cuffs around her ankles and wrists. There were two tubes going into her mouth: one to help her breathe, and one to help administer potions without her spitting them out. Around the bed were complex monitoring spells. On a pane of glass, various pieces of medical information were shown at fifteen-minute intervals. Everything was documented and kept track of.

Her dressings made her injuries look even worse. The bandaging on her thigh was changed every eight hours. Her knee was swollen and propped up on a pillow, wrapped tightly. Sorcha was unsure if it would heal properly, but she plied her potions nonetheless. Her ribs were wrapped tightly as well, keeping her broken ribs in place so that they could heal.

Harry was a huge part in this process. Queen Ethne came into the infirmary to talk to him, only to see him help Niamh turn Airmed on her side and caring for her like a sick sister. At that point, she relieved him of his oath. After that point, his attendance in his classes dropped. Harry did not go to class, did not train, and did not even go for meals regularly. He and Airmed were in this together. So, if he had to turn Airmed on her side every two hours, or if he had to get Sorcha or a blue robe if the monitoring was showing anything strange, then Harry did all that he could. Niamh was at his side, or he was at Airmed's. Harry kept quiet as Niamh would talk to Airmed about anything and everything, hoping that she would respond to his voice. Both of them were waiting for Airmed to wake up.

On the second day of her coma, Niamh sent word to her nieces and nephews in Ireland, and told all of them to come to Hogwarts as soon as they could. His adder, Taliesin, spoke with so many voices that day, that Harry finally tuned them all out.

A week into Airmed's coma, Morwen and Harry's relationship had deepened. Both of them were seriously emotionally injured in the Battle of Hogwarts: Morwen with the loss of her mother and the sudden responsibility thrust upon her, and Harry by watching the woman that had molded him and shaped him fight through her injuries while he sat helplessly. Leaving her siblings in the care of other Knights, Morwen made Harry walk, eat, and sleep. She took him from the sickroom, and got him talking. They talked about everything, from what their favourite colors were to their fears about Airmed's fate. He showed her his black robe marks, and he felt shivers as her gentle fingers touched them and traced their designs in the fall air.

The greatest help that Morwen provided Harry, was training with him. She bullied him and forced him to train with the Knights once again, if only to help keep his mind occupied. It felt strange at first, having his sword in his hand. It felt cumbersome, and his mind always turned back to Airmed. As he focused more on training, it got better. Donnchadh, Conn, and his teachers restarted his training for Knighthood. Archery and swordsmanship became his way to vent his anger and his sense of helplessness. Donnchadh was so impressed, that he had Sir Aiden Oakheart teach him how to wield a double-bearded axe as his secondary weapon.

Harry had not spoken yet to Dumbledore, or any of his former friends among the Hogwarts students. That part of him was gone. He was looking forward to moving to Mann, to living with Morwen, and training at the Academy for real. He was looking forward to having as much as a normal life as his past circumstances would allow him to. Britain was no longer his home.

While he was training, Harry saw Airmed's nieces and nephews come in like a horde upon Hogwarts. It took him a while to learn all of the names, and how they were related to Airmed. Aderyn (29), Enid (27), and Gruffud (25) were Nuala's children by Sir Jory Snakeskin, still living and serving with the 2nd Company. Margaid (27), Caomh and Aiden (25), and Fingal (24) were Cian's children by Sir Mhairi Ironside, a grey robe of great power stationed in Ireland. Saoirse's children were Cadogan (26), Blodwen and Branwen (24), Ruadh (21), Naoise (19), Fintan (16), and Maeve (13), sired by Sir Meryk Oakheart, the son of Sir Aiden Oakheart and serving under his father. Padraic only had two sons, Ronan (24), and Seamus (13), and their mother was Sir Aislinn Dreamstare, a purple robe that had passed when the Manxmen fled Mann two years ago. Drustan had only daughters, with Sadb (16), Treasa (15), Keelan (13), Lile (12), Dana, (9), and Sorcha (7), by Sir Moirrey Swiftwind, living as a soldier among the 1st Company. Marcus was the last Wolfshead old enough to sire children with his wife Sir Steren Darknight of the 3rd Company: Emrys and Myrddin (5), Eirain (3), and Aithne (2). Wolfsheads all, they shared the duties between looking after their aunt, training with the Knights, and helping out the young ones. Their mothers and fathers, if they were still alive, came with them and shared the duties as well.

Harry trained with all of the ones already Knighted and soon to be Knighted. The majority of the Wolfshead scions gifted with magic were red robes, grey robes, or green robes. Both those gifted and those not gifted with magic were Knights. Through Adeyrn, Harry learned that the Wolfshead line was one of the ten original families, along with the Griffinswing, Druidson, Eaglewing, Elderson, the extinct Wyvernclaw, Strongarm, Firebird, Whitemare, and the extinct Fireheart. Because of that, the Wolfshead scions always trained to be Knights. The last case of a Wolfshead solider was four hundred years before the banishment of Manxmen from Britain. It was something akin to an expectation that they train as leaders of men.

It was now four weeks after the duel. Niamh, Harry, and Ruadh Wolfshead were assisting Sorcha in removing Airmed's bandages when Sorcha called out in shock. Airmed's wounds were healed. Pearly scars remained, but they dimly glowed with blue light. **"An leigheasanna ag caitheamh amach, Niamh. Déan iarracht chun labhairt di."**[1]

Gently placing her on her back once more, Niamh grabbed Airmed's hand. **"Mo chroí, le do thoil ... más féidir leat éisteacht le mo ghlór, a shealbhú ar mo lámh."**[2] Everyone waited in anticipation. Harry prayed to Airmed and Brigid with all of his might, praying that they would intervene and let her wake.

A white light began to shine from within Airmed. It grew so bright that everyone had to turn away and shield their eyes. There was the sound of a sonic wave imploding, but nothing was disturbed. Harry smelled sweet herbs in the air, felt fire consume his skin. When they turned around to gaze back on Airmed, everyone grew white in shock. Airmed had an eyelid where her missing eye once was, and there was a mass underneath that thin layer of skin. The scar that ran across her face was now roughly the width of a finger and pearly white. Her hair was no longer blinding white, but a black that echoes the darkest of the nights. Growing from her temples, were lengths of grey hair the width of two fingers.

Tears began to fall as Niamh felt his wife weakly squeeze his hand. Ruadh whooped and ran out, going to tell everyone that Airmed had survived, and she was waking up. Harry moved to the other side of the bed, getting out of Sorcha's way.

Airmed's eyes opened, and they were clear. She tried to breathe through her mouth, but she gagged on the tubes. She looked as though she wanted to yank the tubes out but for the restraints. Her fists curled as tears came down her face. She looked disoriented and afraid. Sorcha placed a hand on her foster daughter's shoulder. **"Airmed, ní mór duit a scíth a ligean. Tá tú anseo sábháilte. Tá tú sábháilte. Niamh agus Harry atá anseo a bhfuil tú, agus mar sin tá do theaghlach. Ní mór duit scíth a ligean. Beidh mé a chur ar an feadáin amach, ach an chéad ní mór duit calma síos."**[3] She spoke evenly, waiting for Airmed to relax.

Sorcha knew exactly what to say. With what appeared to be a considerable effort, Airmed let her fists drop and her muscles try to relax. She looked around, that confusion back in her eyes. Could she feel that her eye had come back? Speaking of that miracle, Harry offered up thanks and praise to not only Airmed and Brigid, but to all of the gods of the Manxmen for returning Airmed to them whole, and gifting her with the return of her lost eye.

True to her word, Sorcha quickly removed the tubes from Airmed's throat, telling her not to bite down on them as she extracted them. Airmed gagged at the feelings, but she managed not to vomit or bite down on the tubes. She did, however, turn her head to the side and cough a few times. Harry's fingers were shaky as he undid the restraints so she could sit up in her bed.

Niamh helped her to raise her head, and she stared at him. "Niamh?" Her voice was hoarse and scratchy from disuse. She raised a hand and gently placed it against his chin, unshaven and unkempt. "How long?"

"Four weeks, my love." Niamh kissed Airmed's forehead, blinking back the tears. "You did it, Airmed. You beat her." The smile on his face threatened to rip his face in two, it was so wide and jubilant.

"I… I can see." Airmed raised a shaky hand to her face, and did not bother to hide her shock at the feeling on an eye where there had not been one for so long. She looked at him. "H… how?"

Harry spoke up, tears running down his face. "You fulfilled your mission to the gods, Airmed. This is your reward, their thanks for all of the services that you have done in their names." He nodded his head over and over. "I believe that they are telling you that, now that the war is over, you can have the life that you were meant to have."

At this point, Dumbledore walked into the infirmary. He took in Harry's rumpled tunic, Airmed awake and staring at him, Sorcha looking at him with a blank face as she gripped the dagger at her waist, and Niamh openly glaring at him. "Sir Wolfshead, I see that you are awake."

"What do you want, Dumbledore?" Niamh had had enough of this man. He had placed his people and his wife in danger this year, and he had the audacity to grin like a delighted grandfather.

Dumbledore had the grace to look abashed. He looked between all present, and nodded his head. "I wanted to make sure that everything was all right. I also wanted to talk to Harry-"

"Harrison." Harry glared at Dumbledore. "My name is Harrison. You will address me as Mr. Potter or Griffinswing." He folded his arms over his chest, looking at his former Headmaster. "I told you, Headmaster, that I would talk to you when I was ready." Dumbledore was about to reply, when a screaming pink cat made her way to the infirmary.

"Where is she? Where's the stupid girl?" Umbridge was shouldering her way past Knights, students, and soldiers until her maddened gaze came upon Airmed. "YOU! You jumpstart arrogant fool! You brought this fight to us! Before you came, we were safe!" The little pink toad was furious in her rage, ranting about all sorts of crimes that she intended to bring before international courts. She wanted to see the Manxmen pay for this.

Airmed raised her hand to stop the Knights and soldiers at the door from grabbing Umbridge. She turned to Niamh. "Help me stand up, love." Niamh did just that, being carefully with her knee. Once Airmed was standing on her own, she took two wobbly steps and stopped in front of Umbridge. She tilted her head to one side, and brought her fist back to punch Umbridge clean in the jaw.

Umbridge fell to the floor, the blow knocking her unconscious. Airmed lost her balance, but Niamh and Harry caught her before she could fall. The Manxmen tried not to laugh, but Dumbledore frowned.

"Gods! I've wanted to do that for three years!" Airmed chuckled and moaned as she sat back in bed. "Now, she can finally be quiet." Niamh and Harry laughed as they helped her back to bed. Airmed looked at Dumbledore. "You can talk to Harrison, but you will do it here. Everyone is watching you, Albus: speak your piece."

For the first time in a long time, Albus Dumbledore seemed discouraged at not getting his way. However, if anything else he was a consummate actor. He turned to Harry and nodded his head. "Harry, I wanted to congratulate you. You did it, my boy." He smiled and went to place a hand on Harry's shoulder, but Harry moved out of the way.

"No thanks to you. If you want to thank anyone, thank Airmed and the Knights of Mann." Harry turned to his gathered training masters and bowed his head to them. "They were the ones to train me, to get me ready. You… you did nothing. You ignored me for three years, and kept me in the dark about all of this."

"Harry, I wanted you to have a normal life… you are still a child-"

"But I'm not. In the eyes of the Ministry, I'm an adult. I have not been a child since the first time Vernon Dursley slapped me because my nightmares frightened me and I wanted a hug. I was two, at the time." Harry's eyes bore into Dumbledore, a grimace curling on his face. Dumbledore looked abashed for only a moment, before that twinkle in his eyes shone out. Harry could feel the Legilimens probe against his Occlumency shields.

"I am truly sorry, Harry, for what they did to you. But… how did you do it, Harry? How did you defeat Voldemort?" Harry turned to Airmed, now resting back in her bed. Niamh and Donnchadh were holding onto her hands, and she looked at him. **"Dóigh liom go bhfuil do chead a insint dó faoi mo bheith ina gúna dubh?"**[4] Airmed nodded her head.

Harry slowly began to remove his tunic. His arms were sore from the drubbing he took yesterday during training, and he felt the bruises protest as his arms moved. Morwen moved to help him, but he shook his head. This was something that he needed to do on his own. Once his tunic was off, Harry turned around and revealed his back.

Dumbledore gasped. "Harry, this is blood magic. You cannot do that, ever again. You aren't Manx. This is dark magic."

"But he can, Dumbledore." Airmed spoke up as she shifted in bed. "You see, what you failed to understand is that Harry has every right to become a black robe. He is descended from the union of two of the original families of Mann." She looked at Harry with a grin on her face. "He is blessed with the blood of Mann, and he accepted my offer to be trained, to stand at my side on the battle field and fight for what he believed in."

"But, the prophecy…" Dumbledore looked so confused, so defeated. Harry's heart almost went out to him, but he kept in mind that this man, his Headmaster, was using him like a pawn on a game board.

"Your prophecy only mentioned the power that the Dark Lord knows not." Airmed cocked an eyebrow at Dumbledore's disbelieving face. "I believe that the powers of a Manx black robe is definitely a power that Voldemort knew not of." She lifted herself up in bed, pushing aside Niamh's hands but keeping a hold of him. She stared at Dumbledore, her eyes becoming fathomless pools. "There are many ways to fill a prophecy, Albus. I filled it, fulfilling both of them."

Airmed stared at the old man and shook her head. "Dumbledore, I just woke up. You can continue this conversation another time. Until then, leave." She laid back down. "We leave tomorrow. All of the Manxmen will be gone from Hogwarts. The dragons and the griffins as well. We will be gone, and we will never come back.

"After all, isn't that what you wanted?"

*HPatKoM*

[1]: The potions are wearing off, Niamh. Try to talk to her again. (Gaelic)

[2]: My heart, please… if you can hear me, squeeze my hand. (Gaelic)

[3]: Airmed, you must relax. You are safe here. You are safe. Niamh and Harry are here with you, and so is your family. You must relax. I will take the tubes out, but first you must calm down. (Gaelic)

[4]: Do I have your permission to tell him about my being a black robe? (Gaelic)


	31. Farewell, to the Little Good You Bear Me

Harry sat at the Gryffindor Table, the Farewell Feast in full gear around him. He smiled to himself: this was it. This would be one of the last few days that he would spend in Britain. Soon, it would be all over. He was looking forward to the new opportunities that awaited him on Mann, the new life that was just waiting for him.

Just as Airmed had promised, the Manxmen left the day after she had woken up. It had been a misty October day, Samhain in fact. There was great hustle and bustle getting everything ready, but by high noon, King Nuada and Queen Ethne led the 1st Company of the Manx Armed Forces back to the Isle. All of the injured were placed on stretchers and transported with knights in tow, the griffins and dragons flying overhead. Niamh and Airmed were the last to leave. She had given Harry and Neville letters, and then followed her countrymen off of Hogwarts grounds, disappearing into the mist.

Harry and Neville compared letters when they returned to the dormitories that night. Airmed remained true to form, as her letter was short and to the point. _"I will come back for you on the day of the Farewell Feast. Pass your exams, and enjoy yourself. You have made me proud in all that you have done. Think on this question before I return: will you accept the honor of knighthood at my hands at the Farewell Feast? Airmed."_ Harry and Neville smiled at each other, and quietly got their affairs in order.

The Gringotts goblins were most helpful in that regard. Pureclaw and Ragnok, the account manager for the Longbottoms, worked side by side in liquidating their assets and withdrawing all of their gold. Harry and Neville traded a third of their wealth into resources to help re-build Mann. The rest, they would keep and spend to help the Manx economy grow stronger again. Harry felt a sense of joy when he approached the stewards of the Potter estates and presented them with a copy of his will. Upon his leaving for Mann, the estates were to revert back to freeholds, keeping all revenues and becoming autonomous in their own rights.

All around him, Harry saw the smiling faces of his once-friends as they jabbered on about what they would do after Hogwarts. Hermione was planning on going into the Department of Magical Creatures, to work on gaining rights for house-elves and other creatures. Ron was hoping to play Quidditch professionally, even though he had received no offers for training. Ginny… he did not care what Ginny wanted to do. She was probably still under the illusion that she was going to marry Harry and become Lady Potter.

Harry stared down at his claddagh, thinking about Morwen. Before she left, she had given Harry a messenger snake, so that they could talk. At night, he would charm his bed with a silencing spell, and talk to her late into the nights. Morwen talked the most about how the rebuilding of Mann was coming along. Castle Rushen was untouched, thanks to Niamh's wards, but the villages were the most destroyed. She had such hopes for their handfasting, and he loved hearing about it. With her, it was like he had found a friend and companion for life, loving her for bringing him a new perspective on the wars. She, too, had found stalwart support in him as he helped her through looking after her brothers and sisters, staying up late at night to have quiet conversations with her and reassuring her that everything would work out in the end.

Harry took a look at the Staff Table. Sir Lionsbeard and Sir Quicksilver had remained behind after the exodus to complete their affairs and finish their classes for the year. They had handed in their letters of resignation shortly after Airmed had woken up, promising Dumbledore that they would remain until the end of the year before he would need to find replacements for them. The other professors were finishing up their classes as well. Professor Boudreaux had finished his sabbatical, and was packing up to return to France after the term's end. All was as it should be for a typical year's end.

The members of the Order of the Phoenix had made an appearance as well. They were all given Orders of Merlin, Third Class, for their participation in the Battle of Hogwarts. Sirius had been found innocent when the corpse of Peter Pettigrew had been found among the dead, somehow alive after sixteen years of being dead. Now, he sat next to Professor Vector and Remus at the staff table, beaming proudly down at Harry.

The House Cup was awarded to Ravenclaw this year, with Gryffindor coming in a close second. Although Gryffindor had won the Quidditch Cup, Ravenclaw had simply accumulated more overall points. As such, Ron and Ginny were furious with Harry for reasons that Harry could not comprehend, and frankly did not care about.

As the supper itself was wrapping up, there was a series of heavy knocks on the oak doors. Dumbledore waved his hands and the doors opened. The halls erupted into noisy chatter as four people walked up the aisle.

Niamh and Prince Fionn walked side by side, their swords by their side. Prince Fionn was wearing the silver circlet of his station around his forehead. Morwen walked in front of them, carrying a bag in one hand and her other hand resting on the axe in her belt. Airmed walked in front of them all, a brilliant smile on her face. She was walking slowly, on account of the massively pregnant belly that she was cradling. She looked as if she would give birth at any moment. Her sword was strapped across her back, since the belt would never reach around her waist in her condition. All of them were not wearing chainmail, instead just tunics with their family sigil and pants.

All of the Knights looked relaxed, a first for many of the students. It was quite strange to see them honestly enjoying themselves, instead of being prepared to fight or their standard grim-faced stoicism. Niamh said something in quiet Manx that made Morwen laugh and Airmed chuckle. Fionn shook his head in mock disappointment, but his smile remained in place.

Awkward as it was, Airmed stopped in front of the staff table and bowed to the best of her abilities. "Albus Dumbledore, your debt to the Manxmen will be paid with this final encounter. It will not take long, but we have some unfinished business with some of your students. After this, you will never see us again, on my honor as a Knight of Mann and as a black robe of the Isle." Her blue eyes pierced through Dumbledore's twinkling gaze like a hot knife through butter.

When Dumbledore nodded his head, Airmed turned slowly towards the Gryffindor table. "Harry Potter and Neville Longbottom, come forward."

Harry and Neville looked at each other and smiled. As they stood, as one they transformed their Hogwarts robes into their chainmail and tabards, their swords by their sides. The murmuring of the students got louder at the new sight. Ron tried to stand up and speak, but was stopped by Euan, now a strapping third year with muscle on his bones.

Prince Fionn withdrew his sword, and pointed it tip down to the floor. Airmed smiled at her students, her friends. "Harry Potter, Neville Longbottom, you were given a question when last I left. I require your answer now."

Harry and Neville nodded their heads. "We do," Neville replied for them both. "We do," Harry echoed.

Airmed smiled. "Very well. Kneel." She unsheathed her sword and moved to stand next to Prince Fionn. As one, they lifted their swords and placed the blades on the shoulders of their kneeling protégés. As one, they spoke their oaths. "In the name of Nuada Argetlam, we charge you to be brave in the face of all dangers. In the name of the Dagda, we charge you to be just in your dealings, regardless of rank or standing. In the name of Danu, we charge you to defend the innocent and the young. In the name of Brigid, we charge you to protect all people of the Isle. In the name of Lugh Samildanach, we charge you to always obey your monarchs and commanders. In the name of the Cailleach, we charge you to defend the old, the infirm, and those unable to defend themselves. In the name of Manannan mac Lir, we charge you to treat all with honor, respect, and dignity, to be fair to all that come to you, and to remember the careful balance between Light and Darkness." With each sentence, the Knights' sword blades changed shoulders on Neville and Harry, until at the last the tips of the swords were placed on their hearts. "In the name of the Morrigan, we charge you to be prepared to give your life for others, in the service of the gods, your monarchs, and your country. Do you accept these charges?"

Neville was first to answer. "I, Niall Aderyn Longwing, once Neville Longbottom, do swear to accept these charges and honor them with my life. I swear this, by land, sea, and sky, by the names of the gods, and by the blood of my line."

Harry answered next, smiling at Airmed and Morwen. "I, Harrigan Ruadh Griffinswing, once Harrison James Potter, do swear to accept these charges and honor them with my life. I swear this, by land, sea, and sky, by the names of the gods, and by the blood of my line." Harry had looked into Eriu Griffinswing's journals, and learned that she had named her first son Harrigan. With his middle name being in honor of the many Ruadhans and Ruadhs of the Griffinswing and Potterson lines, it was only right that he should bear their names as he finally shed off the skin of the Boy-Who-Lived.

Prince Fionn's voice rose throughout the hall as the swords were replaced to their scabbards. "Then, in the names of King Nuada Eaglewing and Queen Ethne Druidson, I, Crown Prince Fionn Eaglewing, name you Sir Niall Longwing and Sir Harrigan Griffinswing, Knights of Mann. Rise, and welcome to our order, brothers."

The hall burst into raucous noise as Harrigan and Niall rose to their feet and embraced all of the knights present. The Weasley women had to be restrained from attacking Morwen when Harrigan embraced and kissed her before all present. Only a blue burst of flames from Airmed's hand quelled the noise.

"I am not finished yet." Airmed motioned to Morwen. With careful hands, Airmed removed a thick black cloak from the bag and shook it out. "Harrigan Griffinswing, you have completed the trials of the black robe. As such, you are entitled to wear this." Carefully, she pinned the cloak around his neck, a smile on her face. "You have earned the right to call yourself a black robe of Mann. Wear this with pride."

Harrigan turned to Morwen, a smile on his face. He placed his hands around her face. "I love you, Morwen Whitemare. Marry me." In front of all, he kissed her.

"How dare you!" Ginny stood up and tried to rush Morwen, but Niall stopped her. "I'm supposed to be your wife! You were promised to me!" Her wand was out, but Niall broke it in his hands, tossing the pieces into a corner.

Harrigan moved away from Morwen, but did not break their contact. "There was never going to be a marriage between the Lines of Potter and Weasley. Your betraying family saw to that." He summoned the Gringotts folder to his hand. "Hermione Granger. Ronald Weasley. Molly Weasley… Ginerva Weasley. All of you stole from me, lied to me, and pretended to be my friends. No more." He slapped the file down on the Gryffindor table, glaring at the white faces from those that he had once trusted. "Plus, we must not forget the one that stole the most from me."

His glare turned towards the staff table. "Albus Dumbledore, Headmaster." Harrigan wrapped his hand around his sword's hilt, his knuckles whitening with the strength of his grip. "You stole from my family. You stole my money. You stole my childhood. You stole my life!" Spit flew from his mouth. "I was your pawn, nothing more to you than the means to an end. Now, you will pay."

"Albus Pervical Wulfric Brian Dumbledore." Prince Fionn turned to the staff table, sheathing his sword as he moved. "You have been found unworthy of the title **cara Mann** for your manipulations against my brother-in-arms Harrigan Griffinswing. For this, you are stripped of your title and are forbidden from ever coming to the Isle of Mann. Our knowledge and our power, our men and our forces, are, from this day on, denied to you." He twisted his hand and summoned the ring from Dumbledore's shocked hand, placing it in Morwen's bag. "If you attempt to contact any person of the Isle, your correspondence will be destroyed. If you attempt to convince a Knight to allow you onto the Isle or try to come onto the Isle by force, we will try you by international laws for your crimes." His glare had the power to make Dumbledore wither in his chair.

Airmed looked serene as Morwen handed her a list. "There are many among you that have aided us during our time here. For this, we wish to thank you and grant you a rare opportunity: a chance to live on the Isle of Mann. Know that once you make this choice, it can be unmade if you should decide otherwise. When I call your name, please come forward."

The first to be called was Lady Augusta Longbottom, a special guest and a member of the Order of the Phoenix. Morwen handed Airmed a black box from the bag. Airmed passed the box to Lady Augusta and wrapped her hands around the matriarch's. "For supporting your grandson, for keeping the ways of the Isle alive in him, and allowing us refuge this summer, I name you **cara Mann**. Is it your choice to join your grandson on the Isle?"

"It is, my dear." Lady Augusta smiled and walked slowly to Niall and embraced him. With that, the thanks continued.

The list was not as long as people might have expected. Every one of the Manxborn were called and given rings. Draco led the Slytherins that requested asylum in getting their rings. Sirius, Remus, Tonks, Oliver Wood, Angelina Johnson, Alicia Spinnet, Katie Bell, Moody, and Kingsley Shacklebolt were named from the Order of the Phoenix. Molly Weasley grew livid as Fred, George, Bill, Fleur, and Charlie were called, but not Percy or Ron. Among the professors, Aurora Sinastra and Pomona Sprout were the only ones named. Snape, Sir Lionsbeard, and Sir Quicksilver came down and stood with those leaving for Mann.

As the names were called, a few chose to remain in Britain. If they chose that, Prince Fionn offered them an alternative: if they chose later to come to Mann, all that they had to do was focus on their rings and a Knight would come to take them to Mann.

There were many that chose to leave Britain, though: Bill and Fleur, now heavy with her own child; Charlie, Fred, and George; Sirius and Remus; Oliver, Angelina, Alicia, and Katie; Draco, Blaise Zabini, Daphne Greengrass, and Tracey Davis from Slytherin House; Luna Lovegood and Mairi O'Sullivan from Ravenclaw House; Seamus Finnigan; Lucia Farrell and Connor MacManus from Ravenclaw House.

The last to be called up was Euan Abercrombie. The sheer smile on his face nearly broke his face in two. Airmed handed him a ring, and whispered in his ear. His smile faded into confusion, but Airmed reached into the bag for the last time. Slithering in her hands was a Manx messenger snake. Her words were too quiet to be made out, but Euan smiled once more and gave her a massive hug. Airmed wrapped her arms around him, and kissed the top of his head.

Airmed turned to everyone behind her, and smiled. "Come, my brothers and sisters. Let us go home." She looked to the students. "You have half an hour to gather what belongings you require, and then meet us out in front of the main doors."

Sir Lionsbeard came forward at this point. "My beloved niece." Gasps came from everyone that did not know this, but both women ignored them. "Take me home."

"We will, Aunt." Niamh took her hand, and they walked out.

Harrigan had tucked his shrunken trunk in his pocket before coming down for the feast. He turned to Dumbledore and handed him a letter before joining Airmed.

"Harry, where are you going?" Ron spoke up, confusion all over his face.

Harrigan turned to the confused redhead, his face blank but his eyes angry. "You have no right to ask me that."

Hermione spoke up, outrage flavouring her outburst. "Why? We're your friends, Harry!"

Harrigan laughed, a chilling sound. "You aren't my friends. You've never been my friends. You were paid to be with me, to watch me, and to report back to the Headmaster. You never cared about me: you cared about your next payday." He snorted and turned away. Hermione was too flabbergasted to speak, and slowly sat down. Ginny was wailing, held in place by Parvati's firm hand from chasing after him.

As the exodus to Mann drew to a close, Dumbledore opened up the letter. He was hoping for an explanation, or at least maybe a sliver of forgiveness. It was not to be. Harrigan's last words were simple. _"I'm done being your Golden Boy. Find a new saviour."_

That day went down into the history books of magical Britain. It was the day that Harry Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived and the Chosen One, left them. It was the day that their hope left them. It was the day that they finally woke up from their fantasies.


	32. Oh, Brave New World!

There were many who were not satisfied with a simple letter. With the departure of several Hogwarts students and the disappearance of a national hero, the largest man-hunt in the history of magical Britain began with a bang. Dumbledore led the search, his reputation deflated and his importance made less. With the return of the Chosen One, perhaps his positions of power would be returned to him.

He was assisted by the remaining scions of the Weasley family, Hermione Granger, and oddly enough, the Ministry of Magic. Molly and Ginny Weasley were furious that, after all that they had done for Harry, he would not be grateful to them and wish to repay his great debt. Ron followed his family's lead, enraged that his best mate would choose the Manxmen over him: he, who had been with Harry through thick and thin. It never crossed his mind that Harry might have felt betrayed by his actions fourth year and beyond. Hermione wanted to hunt down the Manxmen, and bring Harry back into the Light.

The Ministry had a massive problem on its hands, and through the eyes of many in power, the only solution was to bring their saviour back to Britain. Fudge was ousted from office, but his replacement, one Elphias Doge of the Wizenagamot, was just as bad as Fudge. The dumpy old man had no idea how to run a nation, and was quickly replaced by Kingsley Shacklebolt.

Shacklebolt, on the advice of Dumbledore, put out a reward for any information on the whereabouts of Harry Potter, their missing Chosen One. He played on the fact that Harry had defeated Voldemort and his Death Eaters, and that he had to remain in Britain to continue to protect them.

Many of the Muggleborns and halfbloods of Harry's generation soon left the wizarding world after graduation. The majority of them were disgusted that an entire society would place its hopes on someone their age, for something he did not remember. Many moved to the Continent, or to North America, where the wizarding governments seemed far less backwards.

In the search for Harry Potter, those deemed **cara Mann** and those with Manx heritage were brought in for questioning on how to get to the Isle of Man. They were rounded up, their rights suspended, and they were interrogated for this information. For many of the veterans, it was as if Voldemort had never died and his fear still had a chokehold on the population.

The Manxmen did not let this insult pass. However, they were far stealthier and cunning. The Crescent Warriors, for the first time in the history of Mann, left the Isle and began the most extensive and discrete diaspora in English history. Using all of their skills, they extricated all of the Manxborn and **cara Mann** within a week, and transported them to safety on the Isle. It was clear that no one of Manx descent or with connections to the Isle were welcome on the soil of the United Kingdom.

The Ministry of Magic did not let this rest. They charged the Isle of Man with mass kidnapping and intent to spread Dark Magic throughout its population. At the ICW Conference of 1998, King Nuada left the soil with a contingent of Knights for his protection and a cadre of lawyers trained on the Isle. They successfully rebutted the charges against the Isle, instead charging the British Ministry of Magic with the allowance of martial law to rule their nation and to assault people connected with Mann for unwarranted questioning.

Dumbledore happened to be present for that Conference, and confronted King Nuada as he made to leave. The old man pathetically begged King Nuada to return Harry to them, that he was needed in Britain. King Nuada shook his head, and told Dumbledore that Harry had made his choice. Not even he, as King of the Isle, would revoke a choice without consulting Harry first.

Years passed, and the search for Harry Potter finally dwindled into nothing. He became a sort of legendary figure to the newer generations, and a traitor to the British magical society by others. He was held in such controversy, that no one truly knew what to think of him.

All scrying attempts on the Isle were negated. Be it by land or sea or sky, no one could penetrate the mists of Mann and reach Manx shores. It was a lost cause, and finally, Albus Dumbledore died an unhappy man from a heart attack in the year 2005.

If one could have flown through the mists to observe what had happened since the exodus, why would they force Harrigan to leave?

For the first time in over a hundred years, Mann was at peace. Its citizens, be they non-magic or magic, knight or soldier or tradesman, worked side by side to rebuild the villages and homes that they had lost when Iseult Blackone sought their destruction. Families separated for two years were finally reunited, amidst tears and laughter and utter joy.

Within two years, Mann had returned to her former glory. King Nuada and Queen Ethne ruled over the land, ruling justly and fairly under the light of the gods. Sir Conn Elderson retired from his post, leaving his protégée Sir Airmed Wolfshead as Headmaster of the Aurorian Academy and his best friend Sir Donnchadh Strongarm as Commander of the Manx Armed Forces.

Many changes to traditions came around in those two years. Now, every man and woman had to serve in the Armed Forces for only five years of mandatory service. Trades flourished. Under the wise minds and hands of Drago Blacksun, formerly Draco Malfoy, and Sir Harrigan Griffinswing, once former enemies but now cordial friends, the Aurorian Academy flourished and expanded. No longer was it attached to the barracks, but rather students could spend nights with their families and return in the morning for lessons. Laughter filled the Aurorian Academy, as the steel and discipline of the wars was slowly tempered with obedience and smiles.

More subjects were offered, as choices for the students. For those non-magical students, they could sit in on classes with the magical and learn about the non-magical aspects of the spells. Additional sciences, history, and fine arts were introduced over the two years.

All of those that had joined Mann from Britain helped to expand their culture, slowly integrating into Manx life. Of those families that were Manxborn, the children were enrolled into the Academy. Those that had gained their majority were apprenticed into trades. Those with trades were either initiated into the existing guilds, or started up new guilds. Homes were built to house them in quick fashion, and almost all melded into Manx society with few problems.

Sir Niall Longwing became one of the foremost green robes of his generation, assisting and leading in the re-growth of the lost plants and the re-population of the wild creatures. Eventually penning a book on the labours and tasks of re-growing the lands of Mann, Niall Longwing married Sir Naoise Lionsbeard and had a son within a year of their marriage. They named him Marcus.

Sir Airmed Wolfshead, the current Headmaster of the Aurorian Academy, re-established the Academic Council, a pre-war concept that would represent the various ages of the students and the training masters. In addition, she opened up the Royal Library to all Manx citizens, sharing the knowledge that had been collected over the ages. She ran the Academy with a strong hand, but she no longer fought on the front lines. Instead, she finished her term of service as soon as she returned to the Isle and was granted her new position. Her aunt, Morgana Lionsbeard, gave her excellent advice and counsel, and the Academy flourished.

Within the villages around Castle Rushen, the Wolfshead scions bred a new generation unto themselves. Airmed's nieces and nephews continued their family lines, remembering all of their family that they had lost during the war.

On a bright summer's day soon after she had returned to Mann with Harrigan and Niall, Airmed gave birth to twins. Niamh and she wept with happiness for days, as they welcomed Marcus Ruadh and Morrigan Brigid into their hearts. In addition, she welcomed Steren Darknight and her children into their house, letting Marcus' brood play with her children.

Sir Harrigan Griffinswing, the Green Lightning of the prophecy, married Sir Morwen Whitemare on Lughnasadh of 1998. Within two years, they had their first daughter, Eriu. Sir Griffinswing and Sir Whitemare, once their service was over, joined the Academy as a training master, and worked with the blue robes to supply healing potions respectively.

Happiness reigned in the Isle. The Darkness had been beaten. Perhaps, in many generations to come, it may rise again. But for now, the Isle was at peace. The war was over. At last, they could rest.

Off the Isle, the legends and the stories of the Knights of Mann became popular once again. People spoke of the folly of the British Ministry of Magic, and the bravery of the Knights of Mann. Mann would never be forgotten and left aside again. She was remembered throughout the ages as a place where tradition reigned, but where wisdom was tempered with experience. It was a place where if you worked hard enough, and if you held true to your choices and your personal code of honor, then great things would happen.


End file.
